Mirror, Mirror
by jackxnina15
Summary: Thirteen leaves Princeton-Plainsboro to start over, determined to fight her illness as long as she can. Will her newfound stability be enough to anchor her as she tries to help an old acquaintance, or will the life she's built be shattered?
1. Evanescence

**Author's Note: Let me start this by saying I am a major Thirteen fan! So this story basically follows her. I think she and House understand each other better than anyone else...but we'll get to that in the story. This is going to be a kind of long one, and I promise I'll try to keep the chapters coming fast! I have five chapters done after this one, so I'll put them up one by one as I keep writing because I like to stay a few chapters ahead. I have a pretty good idea of how it's going to end up, but then again that might change. Also (disclaimer) obviously I don't own any of this.**

**The title is Mirror, Mirror, but it isn't specifically tagged to that episode. This takes place anytime after what's already aired.**

**This isn't really a chapter, more of a prologue/teaser. Part 1 coming tomorrow hopefully!**

**************

She wrote two letters that day.

_Thanks for not broadcasting news of my resignation. I know it's completely against your nature to put a filter between your brain and your mouth...I'm going to miss that a little. You're an ass. Take your own advice - self-destruction is not a way of cheating death._

_-13_

House would find the note on his desk in the morning.

_Eric,_

_I'm sorry. You'll never believe this, but I'm not running away. It's not your fault, and it's not because I'm afraid of relationships. I need to start over. Please don't worry about me, I learned a lot at PPTH. I'm enrolled in a clinical trial at another hospital. I promise I'll take good care of myself and even let other people take care of me when I need it. I'll never forget you._

_Remy_

She glanced around the apartment one last time, slung her knapsack on her shoulder, then picked up her one bag and turned the doorhandle. The lights flipped off, the door swung shut, and she was gone.

**Any thoughts? Comments are great =)**


	2. Thirteen

"Hadley, the ten year old with the fractured tibia was moved to Peds, right?" asked the head of the ER.

"I took her fifteen minutes ago," Remy assured him. She shuffled some papers littering the nurses' station, then held up a manila folder. "File?"

"Oh, of course. Thank you." The flustered doctor was already rushing off. Rain always brought in plenty of car accidents, and tonight's storm was no exception.

Remy took a breath and rubbed her temples. She could barely see straight, but it was just a headache. She closed her eyes and tried to convince herself it couldn't be a side effect of the new drug - she'd been in this third clinical trial for almost six months. New symptoms wouldn't just pop up now. _Not this time, _she thought. _No one here to sabotage this in the name of love. _Suddenly the doors from the ambulance bay burst open and she jumped, glad for the distraction.

"Male, early fifties, no ID," barked one of the paramedics wheeling the stretcher. Another who was dabbing the man's face with antiseptic gauze moved to the side, giving Remy her first glimpse of the man's face. She fought the urge to gasp - the angry red burns left almost no skin behind. "In and out of consciousness, incoherent. We found him off I-425 by a motorcycle with an exploded gas tank."

"BP is dropping, heart rate 60," a nurse called as she set up the machine.

"Rem, a little help," gasped the EMT pushing the stretcher in. Stephen was one of her closest friends at the hospital.

Remy quickly began chest compressions, keeping his blood circulating. "Any major bleeding?" she asked, not wanting to make it worse. At her voice so close, the man's eyes opened for a moment. The pain snapped them shut quickly, but he struggled to see again.

"Nothing major, just the burns." Suddenly he began to gasp silently, mouth opening and closing.

"Breathing trouble!" she called.

Another nurse checked his oxygen stats, then pushed Remy out of the way for a moment to listen to his chest. "It's not lungs or throat. He's just in pain."

"He's got third degree burns over his head, neck, arms, and one leg; of course he's in pain," snapped another paramedic.

"We need to stabilize him before giving him anything," Remy pointed out. "We don't have his records." The nurse nodded - she knew as well as anyone that he could have an allergy, or a reaction with something he was already taking. "Damn! Will you hold him down, Stephen?" He was squirming and thrashing as she tried to insert his IV. "Listen, I need you to lie still." She addressed him directly, not expecting a response from someone in so much pain, but surprisingly he stopped moving immediately. As soon as she got the needle in, though, he reached out and seemed to be trying to speak. All she could hear was rasping breaths, but she could guess what he wanted. "We'll get you something for the pain in just a moment," she tried to assure him.

Remy turned away as another nurse handed her a morphine bag. She quickly inserted the tube into the port, hastened by the man's scratchy whispers. Then she heard it, and froze. "Thirteen..."

"We're getting you some meds right now," Stephen told him. "Just try to relax."

"Thirteen." Louder this time, and crystal clear, although she still stood facing away from him.

Stephen heard it too. "Thirteen what?" But the patient's eyes focused past him on the doctor's back.

Again, "Thirteen." Finally she turned, and with sudden urgency, stepped close to the bed. _No...you IDIOT! Riding a bike in this weather, going too fast, slid off the road, no ID..._She couldn't be sure, until he opened his eyes once more. Though the rest of his face was burned beyond recognition, the ice blue orbs were unchanged.

"You idiot!" she said, out loud this time. Stephen looked up, shocked by her outburst. "What the hell were you doing on your bike tonight, and way up here?" Then a thought occurred to her. "Is your goddamn leg okay?" She whipped back the sheet and tugged up the hospital gown he'd been covered in at some point during the chaos. How had she not seen this when they cut off his jeans? Fresh burns covered the old scar, and by the looks of it the fire had eaten away new flesh in some places.

"Leg's fine..." he breathed, then his head dropped back to his pillow.

"House!" Monitors began to beep around her and nurses rushed over, but his eyes opened again.

"Amber," he rasped as they prepared to intubate.

_What? _"No, it's Thirteen. Stay with me, House."

The nurses moved in, but he pushed them away. "Amber." He was insistent, almost scared.

"Cutthroat Bitch?" Although some would think the name was a disrespectful way to refer to a dead person, House's ex-team knew Amber would consider it an honor.

House nodded slightly as his eyes rolled back and closed.

"Remy? What the hell is going on here?" Stephen was bewildered, but she ignored him, cursing to herself. _Think. _She tried to take herself back to the days as House's duckling. _Think, Thirteen._ Anything Amber could have to do with this..._Wilson? Why wouldn't he just say Wilson if he wanted me to call him?_ Unless he meant something about Amber's death. _He thinks we won't be able to save him? But he's not unidentified anymore like she was...there's no mystery here, just a bike crash._ Amber died in a bus crash..._but not really IN the bus crash._ Her eyes widened as the realization swept through her. _Amber would have been fine, except for the drugs she took right before impact._ Amber died because no one knew her kidney damage left sky-high amounts of flu medicine to rampage through her body. _Oh God, House..._

She blinked, looking at Stephen. "We need to get him on dialysis." Grabbing the nearest nurse, she repeated her order.

"Why?" they asked, almost in unison.

"He's a burn victim. His kidneys could be damaged from the crash, but he'll be fine for a few hours till we stabilize him." The nurse looked exasperated.

"He's a drug addict," she said, not taking time to explain how she knew. "Vicodin. If he got his fix before he got on that motorcycle - which believe me, he did - it'll kill him because his kidneys can't filter it out." Stephen and the three nurses who were listening by this time stared almost blankly. "Do it!" They snapped into action, not willing to counter the attending doctor.

Praying she was right, Remy backed out of the chaos and leaned heavily against the nurses' station. As soon as she was sure her orders were being followed, she took a step backward, then turned and bolted down the stairs.

**Please review! Next chapters under construction =)**


	3. The Difference

**Author's Note: Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up, busy week. I'm hoping for the rest of the story to go a little faster. **

"How's the surgery going?"

Remy tore her gaze from the scene below to glance at Stephen, who had joined her in the observation room. "Slowly, but it's going. They're done with his face, which went pretty well, and the arms will be okay, but his leg..."

Stephen saw the way she bit her lip. Over the last couple years, she had become one of his best friends. They usually worked similar shifts, and it was nice to have someone to share the occasional quiet moment with. Since she was in the ER and he was a paramedic, pauses in their hectic days usually came at the same time. As she finished up with the patient he brought in, he'd grab them both coffees and wait for her in the nook of the third floor stairwell, their hangout. Of course they'd gotten some teasing about spending time in a stairwell, but it didn't bother her, so he didn't let it bother him. No matter what everyone thought, they were just friends. Remy didn't seem at all interested in a relationship, and he was happy with the way things were - it'd taken time and patience to get this far with her. She had always been polite and professional, but it was almost a year after she arrived at Faulkner before she began to speak more than was absolutely required to do her job. Intrigued by her half-concealed personality from the beginning, Stephen looked for reasons to spend time with her and tried to draw her out of herself. Slowly, he'd felt her becoming more comfortable with him, and letting him peer into parts of her life she kept hidden by default.

Just like everything in her past, this man she was so concerned about now was mostly a mystery to him. She'd spoken of House before, but only once or twice. He knew she used to work for him, that he was more or less a Vicodin addict, and that most people thought he was an ass. Unspoken but barely visible to Stephen was the fact that she felt differently; she didn't hate him as much as she apparently should. Stephen placed a hand on her lower back to let her know he was there, and waited until she was ready to speak.

"He made a choice after his infarction - he would live with the never ending, unbearable pain if it meant he could still walk. If that's taken away from him now...he won't have any reason to live."

"We don't know he won't be able to walk. It might take time, but with rehab he could get back to using his cane like before."

"You don't get it." Her voice shook. "He won't go through rehab if it's that bad. He's endured so much pain for so long, and for what? People make it through months of rehab because they want to go back to their jobs, homes, families...they want to live their lives. He doesn't."

He drew her into his arms and held her, because she needed comfort and this was the only way he knew how. "Rem, things might have changed. That was years ago."

She stiffened in his arms, unaccustomed to this kind of contact and not wanting him to get the wrong idea. _He's just a friend, and you need one right now_. Slowly she relaxed and let herself feel the warmth of his arms. She even tried to convince herself Stephen was right; that he could have taken the advice in her final note to him. House's voice, though, echoed hauntingly in her head. _People never change._

**********

Blinding pain. Debilitating, mind-crippling, indescribable pain was the first thing he realized. _Where the hell...is my...damn VICODIN?_ The thought took effort to complete, and just the idea of opening his eyes to investigate wore him out. Then another wave of pain hit and he sat up quickly, nauseous. As he leaned over and gagged, in the corner of his eye he caught someone jumping up from a plastic hospital chair pulled up close to the bed and reaching for a basin. _Thirteen?_ And it all came rushing back to him. Too sick to care that he was puking his guts up in front of her - which he would usually consider showing weakness - he grabbed the bowl, but she stepped closer and held it up for him.

When he was finished, he gasped heavily and leaned back awkwardly, not laying all the way down to his pillow. Thirteen hit the button to move the bed into a reclining position, and he relaxed gratefully. Not meeting her eyes, he muttered, "Morphine. Now."

"You're already on a drip. Your bag change is in fifteen minutes."

He scowled but made no argument. There was a sympathy in her voice he wasn't sure if he liked, but didn't actually hate. It wasn't quite like pity. It occurred to him that she had been sitting in the chair by his bed, but before he could ponder the fact, she spoke again. "Do you know where you are?"

"A hospital in Boston, probably Faulkner. How long was I out?"

"It's two a.m. Thursday, so about five hours from the accident."

He shifted, then grimaced and swore. "What'd I break?"

"Your own doctor will be in as soon as I tell him you're awake to fill you in on your injuries - which aren't minor. What happened, House? Why were you in Boston going too fast on your bike at 10:00 at night in a storm?"

He dropped his gaze, and she could almost see the defensive barrier slide over his face. "Why the hell are you in Boston in some second-rate hospital, playing Attending Doctor in the ER?" he shot back.

She drew in a breath. Sarcasm and insults were the norm for him, but this was unlike what she remembered. Instead of a quick spark in his eye, now there was acid bitterness. "You know perfectly well Faulkner's not second-rate, but fine. Dodge the question. Let me know when you're ready to give me some answers." She turned and left, and House felt an immediate and unsettling loss. _Damn her, poking into my personal life. She's a doctor, not even my doctor, and definitely not my fucking shrink._ The irony of the thought hit him, but he wasn't in the mood to consider it. Thankfully, at that moment a rushed and flustered nurse popped in to replace his morphine bag. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he prayed that Thirteen wouldn't take it upon herself to try to notify Wilson or Cuddy of his current condition.

**********

"Whoa," he said, catching her as she literally ran into him outside the locker rooms. She tried to brush him off, but he held onto her. "How is he?"

Resigning herself to letting him see how much this was affecting her, she looked up and said, "It's not good, Stephen."

"I thought the surgeons saved most of the healthy muscle in his leg." She nodded, but the tears threatening to spill over startled him. "Hey, talk to me here. What's wrong?"

After a deep, shuddering breath, she said, "He's not better than when I left. He hasn't found a reason to live, he's gotten worse."

"What did he say to you?"

"It's not what he said," she tried to explain. "It's how he said it. He's always been an asshole, but it's usually a game for him. See how far he can antagonize someone until they reach their limit, and what will happen when they finally do. But now...there's no game in it. It's like his sarcasm is on autopilot, just because it's what everyone expects from him. He sounds the same, but he looks so fucking angry - not at me in particular, I don't think, but at the world."

Stephen was silent for a moment. "Do you think something happened to make him this way?"

"It must be. But with all he's been through, it has to be horrible to change him like this."

"It would help the rehab therapists if they knew what was going on in his life," Stephen reminded her gently.

She scoffed. "I pity any therapist who has to work with him." Biting her lip again, she said, "I don't know how to find out what it is. He's not exactly ready to spill his guts."

"Is there anyone at your old hospital who would know that you could call?" As she considered this, he interrupted, "We can talk about it on the way home."

"Home?"

"Definitely. I'm heading out, and I'll drop you by your place on the way. It's too late for you to ride the bus. You need to get some sleep."

"Stephen, I ride the bus every night," she complained, but only halfheartedly. It would be nice to have a warm ride home, and someone to bounce ideas off.

"No arguments." He was firm. "Grab your stuff and let's go."

**Please review =)**


	4. Consult

**Author's Note: I made some progress writing so I decided to go ahead and put this chapter up. Yay for one of my favorite characters showing up =)**

"Thanks, Stephen," she said as they arrived at her apartment building.

"Anytime, you know that. And listen - it's 2:45 now. Get some sleep. You are NOT allowed back at that hospital until at least noon tomorrow. I know your shift doesn't start till three, so don't BS me," he half-teased.

"Yes, Mom," she rolled her eyes at him and laughed, opening the car door.

His eyes narrowed as he heard the fatigue and concern behind her light-hearted tone. He caught her hand and pulled her back toward him, embracing her. "Call me if you need to."

Closing her eyes in his arms for a moment, she realized how exhausted she really was. "Thanks. I'll be okay." He pulled back and gave her a warning look. "But I'll call if I need to," she added quickly. He knew how she tended to push away from people. "Goodnight, Stephen." She slid out of the car and hurried to her door.

"Goodnight, Remy," he whispered, watching her go. "Sleep tight."

***************

She quickly changed out of her work clothes into a tank top and comfortable sweatpants. Setting her alarm for 9:30, she settled into bed to get some much needed sleep. To her dismay, it didn't come immediately. Though her body was exhausted, her mind was racing. What could have happened at Princeton-Plainsboro to send House running like this? There were few things in the world he cared about enough to impact him like this - Wilson, Cuddy, and his job were the only three that came to mind.

Remy found herself wishing she wasn't so out of the loop at PPTH. It had been a clean break three years ago - she hadn't made contact with anyone since she walked out. She assumed everyone was still there, but who could she call to find out what was going on with House? Her options were limited, since she'd never gone out of her way to make friends outside Diagnostics, and there were few people at the hospital who didn't steer clear of the department's head anyway. Wilson was the obvious choice, but he was also the one most likely involved in what was going on. Cuddy would run to Wilson first thing if she got a call about House, so she was out. And somehow, maybe from years of being brainwashed that Cuddy should be mislead and subverted at any opportunity, calling her would feel like a kind of betrayal. Taub and Kutner? Remy almost smiled as she realized that even after all these years, she still thought of them as Taub-and-Kutner, like one person. For all she knew, they weren't even at Princeton-Plainsboro anymore. Their fellowships would surely have ended by now. She rubbed her forehead, nearly out of options. No way was she contacting Eric - he'd have too many questions, and none of them would have to do with House. _Everyone else in the hospital gives House a wide berth. No one else would even notice if he was more on edge than usual. _

_Wait...his old team? _She didn't know either of the other doctors well, but she could recall their names - Allison Cameron and Robert Chase. They'd worked with Eric, and most of what she knew about them was from his stories. He told her how Cameron had fallen in love with House and spent years trying to get his attention; conning him into taking her on a date and using Chase to make him jealous. _Not who I want to call right now. _She didn't need a crazy, hopeless romantic type to do something stupid and upset House. Chase, on the other hand, Remy had always kind of liked. He seemed levelheaded (enough to balance Cameron's insanity), and since he and Remy hadn't been close, she could call him to find out what was going on without facing too many questions about where she'd disappeared to three years ago. He was bound to know what was going on with House, with Cameron no doubt keeping him informed whether he cared or not, but he wasn't so attached to the man that he'd tell Wilson or Cuddy.

Mind made up, she reached for her laptop. Although she wasn't sure what position Chase held now or if he was even still at PPTH, this was the best way she could think of to find a number to contact him. Typing in the Princeton-Plainsboro web address from memory, she selected the _Administrators, Doctors and Specialists _tab in the header and did a double-take as the page loaded. "Dean of Medicine Alexander T. Bryant" was the heading, and a stiff, formal picture of a balding man in a suit accompanied the information underneath.

This was the last thing she was expecting; she'd just assumed Cuddy and House would play their control-struggle game forever. Without her to hold him in check, he'd induce a lawsuit a week. Cuddy was one of the only people who could stand House, and one of the only ones who could get through to him. Remy skimmed the paragraph and found that Bryant took over the hospital more than a year ago. _So this isn't what set House off...unless he got fired?_ Holding her breath, she scrolled over the Departments and Heads menu. _Diagnostics - Gregory House, M.D._ So that wasn't it. Two rows down: _Oncology - James Wilson, M.D._ Then one she wasn't expecting: _Surgery and Operations - Robert Chase, M.D._ She should have known House would pull strings to get the only surgeon who would indulge his ridiculous requests in charge. Clicking his name, she smirked at the picture. Although she'd never been much for stereotypes regarding sexual orientation, this man was the epitome of gay. His perfectly styled hair and almost comically eager smile made it difficult to take him seriously. Reaching for a pen and stickynote, she jotted down the number under his name.

_Damn._ She pulled back the hand already reaching for her cell phone. _It's almost four in the morning._ Sighing, she realized she'd have to wait until a reasonable hour. Her plan of action made up, she was suddenly tired again. Placing Chase's number by her computer, she curled up again and was asleep in minutes.

**********

Arriving at Faulkner just after nine the next morning, she stopped briefly in the locker room before heading straight to the third-floor staircase, the only place she knew would be quiet and deserted. Cell phone in hand, she climbed the stairs while pulling the sticky note out of her pocket. She referred to it to dial the number, and held her breath as it rang. Once...twice...then the line clicked. "Hello?"

"Is this Doctor Chase?" The question was unnecessary; his accent clearly identified him. "This is Remy Hadley." A pause. "Thirteen."

"Oh, of course! A fellow ex-duckling. I'm sorry. It's just that you never introduced yourself as Doctor Hadley here."

She laughed at his term for House's teams, and realized he was right. "I guess I've gotten used to having a name again. How have you been?"

"Oh, wonderful...Allison and I are engaged as of a month ago." She heard the excitement in his voice and smiled, remembering how crazy he was about Cameron. "How about you?"

"Congratulations! I'm at Faulkner hospital now, working the ER."

"The emergency room is a change, isn't it?" he commented. "Took me a while to get used to the pace after I switched from House's team." Another pause - he was clearly wondering why she called.

"Listen, Doctor Chase - "

"It's Robert, please."

"All right, then call me Remy, Robert. I have a few questions, and I need to ask you to use careful judgement before repeating this to anyone."

"Alright..." he said, his accent more pronounced.

"Last night, a man came into our emergency room with severe burns over sixty percent of his body from a motorcycle accident."

"Oh God," he groaned, obviously seeing where this was going. "That fucking idiot."

"Exactly what I said. But there's more. The worst of the damage is on his right thigh."

Chase paused on the other end of the phone. "How bad?" he asked tentatively.

"In two to four months of rehab, he should regain almost all the mobility he had before the accident."

"Two to four months of rehab?"

"That's why I'm calling. As you know, of course, House can deal with pain. The daily struggle is nothing new for him. But to endure months of exercises and physical therapy, a patient needs to _want_ to get better." She paused, unsure of how to continue. "When he woke up this morning after surgery, I asked him what he was doing so far from Princeton, speeding recklessly on a rainy night. I could tell from his response...there was a reason, and he didn't want to share." Chase sighed. "Is there anything you know of that could help the doctors here treat him? Is he in danger of losing his job, since his guardian angel apparently quit?"

He laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, Cuddy finally did it. She decided Rachel was her first priority, and someone else could keep him from running this place out of business with legal fees and lawsuits. At first we all thought she'd be back, but he knew it was for good. You wouldn't believe how he changed. As soon as Bryant took over - he's a prick, by the way - House pretty much gave up and blended in. No more ethical codes shattered, ridiculous shot-in-the-dark tests, or gross violations of privacy - and he lost three patients in three months. Taub and Kutner quit within four." Remy was silent, trying to get used to the idea of a compliant, subdued House. He sounded...lifeless. "I thought it would break him," Chase continued, "but he seemed to survive until a month ago. I don't know exactly what happened, but he and Wilson had some huge disagreement. I don't think they've spoken at all since then."

"Oh, God." She knew how much Wilson meant to him, although he tried to hide it. After Amber's death, when the men had parted ways for so long, he could often be found staring pensively across their shared balcony, twirling his cane. The new team was worried about how he would react to being dragged to his father's funeral months later (mostly afraid he'd terrorize and abuse them more than normal), but his mood actually improved after the trip. Taub was of the opinion that he was a heartless son of a bitch who was happy to see his father gone, but Kutner and Thirteen thought his restored friendship with Wilson was responsible. "Do you think they'll get over it?"

"I don't know enough to make a prediction," Chase sighed, "but from the way House is reacting...it doesn't look good." They were silent for a moment. "How long is he going to be there?"

"I'll have to look at the transfer openings. He's easily stable enough to be moved, so we'll probably send him down there tonight or tomorrow." She paused. "What will Wilson do when he finds out?" A pause, then - Click, grind...crack. "Are you chewing on a pen?"

They both laughed, breaking the tension. "Guilty," he said. "Means I'm thinking. With Wilson, it'll go one of two ways - and neither is good. He'll either play mother hen, which would not solve anything but force them to pretend they're okay; or not care, which would kill House." Remy couldn't picture Wilson staying away from his best friend's bedside - for Chase to bring up the possibility, the argument must really be serious. "Do you want me to tell Wilson?" Chase offered. "I could get an idea of how he'll react when House gets here."

"Thanks for offering...but I'd rather House didn't find out I called you. You know how he is - I don't think he'd want us conferring about him." _Because I wouldn't_. She didn't say it, but she understood his aversion to people focusing on him like this. "If you're comfortable with it, I don't really want House to know about this conversation."

"Good point. I'll keep it to myself." Remy hesitated. She didn't want to mention Cameron by name. "I know Allison can...over-react sometimes, especially when it comes to him," Chase continued. "I don't have to bring this up with her."

"I'd appreciate that," Remy said, relieved. "Thanks for the insight."

"No problem. Good luck dealing with House today - he's like a wounded animal when he's sick; you have to be careful trying to help him. I'll talk to you later, Remy."

**I'm a little discouraged that I haven't gotten many reviews =( so feedback would be great!**


	5. Stay

**Author's Note: First, to clear this up (from VisualIDentificationZeta's comment); this story is mostly from Thirteen's point of view. So, the descriptions of other characters aren't necessarily _my_ opinions, they're hers. I actually like Cameron now (I do think she was a little psychotic in earlier seasons), but I think Thirteen sees her as a ridiculously girly romantic. Not to say that I haven't read some great Camteen stories, but that's beside the point. And sorry about the traces of Chameron, I tried not to put it too much about them.**

**Anyway, here's another chapter. Please let me know if you're enjoying it!**

Two quick raps on the door, and Remy poked her head in. Seeing he was awake, she asked, "How are you feeling?" He shrugged, and she waited for a snappy remark, but it never came. He simply dropped his gaze again and picked at an invisible thread on his sheet. Moving closer to the bed, she pulled her chair over and sat. "House." He glanced up again, just for a second. "What were you doing up by Boston last night?"

"Looking for you, obviously. Cameron stopped having sex with me so I needed a new young subordinate to screw," he snapped. Not bothering to point out that neither of them worked for him anymore, she waited. "Why does it matter to you anyway?"

"A doctor should know everything about their patient - where they grew up, what car they drive, and whether they're cheating on their spouses or their tax returns. Sound familiar?"

"I'm not married, you idiot." But the comeback was halfhearted. She paused, but he offered no more information.

"Second question," she continued, giving up for now. "What did Dr. Myers tell you about your rehab?"

"Two weeks of in-patient treatment, another two to three months of intensive physical therapy. And I know you knew that, you're just supposed to ask to make me feel informed. I'm a doctor too, you know."

"I wasn't aware you payed much attention to tips like that one meant only to make patients feel good," she commented. "Anyway, we can move you back to Princeton-Plainsboro tonight at 8, or if you'd rather, we could wait till tomorrow at --"

"No." He cut her off.

"All right, I'll put you down for tonight."

"No." She paused, giving him a questioning look. "I don't want to go to Princeton-Plainsboro."

"What? You hate Princeton General..." This went against everything she knew about him.

"I'm not going to that hell-hole either. I'll do my in-patient time here."

"Wh..." She didn't even know what to say.

"PPTH and Faulkner have the same insurance, it will transfer just fine."

"Insurance isn't what I was thinking about! House, won't everyone wonder why you would stay here instead of going back home?" Even as she spoke, she knew it wasn't a good argument. Of course he didn't care what everyone thought.

"I'm not going to tell them. I'll email the Dean of Medicine that I'm taking my vacation time." He immediately realized that he'd said "the Dean of Medicine" instead of "Cuddy" or some derogatory nickname, and Thirteen was bound to ask questions that he didn't want to deal with. She didn't comment, though, so maybe it had slipped by her.

She paused, considering his choice. For House to go back to PPTH injured, needing to be taken care of, without Wilson and Cuddy to hover over him, would be unbearably demeaning. He worked so hard to prove his independence even with the disability that the last thing he'd want to do would be to lie in his own hospital as a _patient, _unable to shower or use the bathroom himself. He didn't say any of this, but she understood. So she nodded slowly and said, "I'll let the Admin department know." Watching his face closely, she said casually, "Want me to call Wilson or Cuddy and let them know where you are?"

She immediately almost regretted bringing it up. The pain that flashed behind his eyes was so sudden and severe she may as well have kicked him in the leg. "No, it's fine. I'll send an email." The strained tone and lack of snarky remark about staying out of his business betrayed his effort to sound casual.

She held his gaze long enough to let him know she noticed, then gestured around the room. "How do you plan to do that?"

Noting the lack of computer and remembering he couldn't get out of bed to find one, he gritted his teeth and reached for the notepad and pen on his bedstand. Scribbling a short message, he said, "Here, you know how to get on the PPTH email. Send this from my account." She started to take the paper from him, but he held on to it and said, "But Thirteen." She met his gaze. "Cuddy isn't the Dean anymore. I wrote the new Dean's email here."

"Why?" she asked, trying to give off the faintest hint of surprise.

He paused. "A year ago, Rachel had a severe allergy attack while she was with the sitter. Peanuts. They took her to Princeton General by accident, and it was four hours before Cuddy even found out. When she got there, she found out Rachel had gone into cardiac arrest, but they'd brought her back. It scared Cuddy to death." House paused, and seemed lost in thought for a moment. "She requested an exception from the board for the two-week notice policy, and was out for good in three days."

Remy paused, not sure what to say. "I'm sorry," she settled on, and immediately steeled herself, ready for him to bite her head off. He looked taken aback at the sincere statement, but said nothing. Then he abruptly let go of the paper they both still had and sat back against his reclined bed.

"I'll email him, then," she said, but didn't move, wanting to give him a chance to ask her to contact Wilson too.

But he seemed to suddenly realize how vulnerable he sounded, and that several minutes had passed without a characteristic comment. "And if you use my account to exchange steamy messages with Cameron, I'll know," he said, eyebrows raised.

"Goodbye, House." She rolled her eyes and and left.

**********

"I thought I told you not to come back here till noon."

She jumped as Stephen approached the nurse's station behind her. Shrugging, she said, "Couldn't sleep, sorry."

He pretended to glare for a moment, then asked, "How is he?"

"Hang on, let me finish this email." She read over what she'd written, then, satisfied, hit Send.

"Come on, let's walk," he suggested.

They made their way across the bustling ER and through the lobby. As the automatic doors whooshed open, the crisp September air greeted them. They turned north and walked in silence for two blocks. She'd always appreciated that about Stephen; he wasn't afraid of silence and knew when to let it be. Gathering her thoughts and taking a breath, Remy said, "He wants to do his in-patient time here. Two weeks."

"Wow. Any idea why?"

"I called an old acquaintance at Princeton-Plainsboro, someone who used to work with House. For House, actually. I found out...the Dean of Medicine resigned a year ago. It's hard to explain, the love-hate game she and House played, but she had an incredible tolerance for his insanity."

"She?" Stephen asked.

"Lisa Cuddy, youngest female Dean of Medicine at a major private hospital. And House's personal babysitter. She constantly had to stop him from treating patients for things we didn't know if they had, or running insanely dangerous tests without consent. They were always arguing, and he harassed her relentlessly. Comments about her sex life, her clothing, her job...he liked her, but his way of showing it was like a ten year old with a crush. Once during his crazy game to select new fellows - there were about eight of us left in this survivor-like competition - he told us the next challenge was to steal Cuddy's thong."

Stephen just cracked up. "Seriously?"

"I swear," she said, laughing at the memory.

"So did anybody do it?"

"Yeah, this Black Mormon who was a single father with six kids got it! At first House thought he actually had sex with her, then he figured out he'd actually just explained the game to her and asked to borrow her underwear, I guess. He was fired - House said the point of the game was to subvert Cuddy, and if we couldn't get used to that we might as well just leave."

"Ten year old with a crush sounds about right," Stephen laughed.

"They almost got together a few times - there was an office pool betting on how long it would take - but he always did something to screw it up. Anyway, she adopted a baby girl a while ago, before I left. She kept trying to cut back on hours to spend more time with Rachel, even tried to hand her job off to one of House's old fellows, but he always found a way to get her to come back. Apparently a year ago, she decided it was time to quit."

"So House is upset about his new boss?" he asked, not quite understanding. "Or did he get fired?"

"I wouldn't have expected him to last more than six months under a new Dean. Defying authority and rules is a game for him. But Chase - the doctor I called at PPTH - said he's practically compliant now."

Stephen asked hesitantly, "So that's good, then, right? He'll be able to keep his job?"

"House without sarcasm is like macaroni without cheese," she said, teasing Stephen about his culinary preferences. No grown man should eat as much mac-and-cheese and chicken nuggets as he did. "It's his way of communicating, his way of coping. I can't even imagine what he would be like...it's almost sad."

"If he's made it through a year, though, he'll be okay," Stephen tried to assure her. "Taking a small step toward normalcy will be good for him."

She shook her head. "That's not what set him off, though. House only cares about three people - himself, Cuddy, and his best friend Wilson. With Cuddy gone, it was him and Wilson against the world - until they got in some major disagreement a month ago. Chase didn't know what it was about, but he said it was worse than the one two years ago, and that was horrible. Chase thinks House drove off on his bike just to escape - it's what he does when other people would go running or something - and got reckless. But the only way I can see him doing this recovery is with Wilson there every step of the way, nagging House to let him take care of him then getting his head bitten off like usual."

"House seems strong," he commented. "Surely he can pull through this."

"He's not," she almost whispered. "It's just a show. Wilson is one of the few people he trusts enough to allow to help him. Without him, House will dull the pain with more and more drugs...until he takes too much and it's over."

"While he's here, he won't be able to get his hands on much. What's the one thing you always tell patients like him, starting a slow, painful rehab program they think will never work?"

"Take it one day at a time," she said reluctantly.

"That's all you can do right now, Rem. Don't get ahead of yourself."

**Reviews, please =)**


	6. Rehab

Scrolling through her recent calls, Remy found the number she didn't expect to use again so soon. Listening to the rings, she hoped he'd still be in his office at six in the evening. "Hello?"

"Ch-Robert. This is Remy Hadley."

"Oh hello, Remy," he said. "How's it going? Any idea when you're going to get rid of House?"

"Actually...we're not. For some reason, he decided this morning he wants to do his in-patient treatment here."

"Oh!" The surprise was evident in his voice. "I guess we should have seen that coming."

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, you know how he always has to keep the upper hand. Lying in a hospital bed, unable to even shower without help, would be pretty demeaning for him."

"So he'd rather go through that surrounded by a bunch of strangers?"

"In his mind, that's better than the colleagues he's spent the last twenty years alienating. Besides, not everyone at Faulkner is a stranger."

"I think I would fit into the category of people he's tried to alienate," she pointed out. "He certainly likes to keep the upper hand on me."

"Don't be so sure," Chase said quietly. "When you left the hospital, how much notice did you give him?"

"Two days. I know it's supposed to be two weeks, but he said it was okay."

"And for those two days, he didn't try any harder than usual to make you miserable?"

She thought back. "Not that I remember..."

He chuckled. "You'd remember. Do you know why he let you go so easily?"

"Because he didn't like me very much?"

"No. Because he understood. He saw that Foreman and everything at Princeton-Plainsboro was suffocating you, and he wanted to help you get away. Have you ever known House to keep a secret just because someone asked him to?"

"Once..." she whispered.

"Right. He didn't tell the team, especially Foreman, that you were leaving." Remy remembered the note she left him that morning. _Thanks for not broadcasting news of my resignation._ "You know, after you left, Kutner came to me with a concern about House. He though he was taking too much Vicodin, more than usual. It took me a while, but I realized it was because you were gone. He doesn't do change well. It's not surprising that his leg pain got worse after a team member left, but it is surprising that he let you go like that. I know the twisted logic doesn't make much sense...but he did it for you."

"Wow," she said quietly. "I guess at the time, I thought he was letting me leave because...he knew I wouldn't be able to work much longer."

"That's not how he does things." Chase was silent, and she knew she'd shocked him with the blunt reference to her disease. Finally, he said, "Did Foreman tell you about the time he almost died after he caught something from a patient?"

"Yeah, how he tried to get Cameron sick too, then she made some impossible decision just as House solved the case."

"She chose to operate on his brain. The outcome was not as bad as it could have been, but he had some left-right reversal and short-term memory issues for a while. As much as House played up the irony of a brain-damaged neurologist, he never seriously considered firing him. Turns out House has a soft spot for people who might seem disadvantaged. If Princeton-Plainsboro had been the best place for you, he would have kept you on as long as you were physically able to be there."

"I don't know what he would have done, but since he's been here he's been as angry and closed-off as ever. Worse, even."

"He's hurting, Remy. Whatever happened between him and Wilson, now the months of living with even less mobility and more pain..."

She sighed. "I know." They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, then she said, "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you not to expect him there anytime soon."

"Yeah, thanks for letting me know. And if you need anything, please, call me."

"Thanks. It might help to have somebody who knows him to bounce ideas off."

"Or just vent," Chase laughed. "Bye, Remy."

She shut the phone and leaned back on the playground swing she'd chosen as her hide-out for nice days. Moore Park, a block from Faulkner, was rarely crowded, especially as the seasons shifted toward winter. She attracted a few strange looks sitting on a children's swing in hospital scrubs, but it wasn't worth taking the time to change out of them.

Kicking off the ground and swinging back and forth lightly, she thought about what Chase said. She'd never admitted it before, even to herself, but she'd really thought House let her go so easily because he knew her disease was likely to start affecting her work soon. Surely it wasn't because he'd actually considered how she felt. While she was at PPTH, he seemed to enjoy nothing more than causing problems between her and Eric - so why would he suddenly start helping her keep a secret from him to prevent an argument? Now that Chase pointed it out, though, it made sense that he understood. After all, she understood how he felt; why he hated pity and attention. It even made sense to her that he didn't want to go back to Princeton-Plainsboro injured and helpless. His ever-important distance would be hard to maintain when he needed help with the simplest of tasks. Would he be lonely here, though? _Not any more than he would be at PPTH._ The thought made her inexplicably sad. His isolation was by his own choice, wasn't it? _Maybe he just doesn't know how not to be lonely._ She scoffed at herself. _Of course, all House wants is friends. This is crazy._ But she rose from the swing and slipped her phone in the pocket of her scrubs. Not quite sure yet what she was going to do, she headed toward the hospital.

*******************

"What?" he nearly growled, and she could hear a slight curiosity in his voice. Nurses never knocked, and there was no one he expected to visit.

She pushed open his door. "How's your leg feeling?"

"Sunshine and rainbows." He rolled his eyes, but there was no anger in his face, so she came closer and pulled a lap table over his bed. "What are you doing?"

Setting down the box in her hand, she said, "Chess?" She held her breath, knowing there was a good chance he'd bite her head off.

A suspicious glare. "Is this going to end in you interrogating me again?"

"No," she promised. "Just thought you'd be bored, and my previous boss taught me that any excuse to avoid working should be exploited to its full potential."

He cracked an actual smile, just for a second, and began setting up the pieces. "Sounds like a wise man." Board arranged, he nodded at her to make the first move.

They played in focused silence for a few minutes, then she asked, "Have you been to the PT clinic yet?"

He froze, hand on a rook. "I thought this was an interrogation-free game."

"Sorry, didn't realize friendly conversation counted."

He ignored the second statement. "I went down after lunch, just for my initial evaluation." In order to avoid over-questioning him, she waited for him to speak again. "All they came up with is that I'm one messed up son of a bitch."

"Who's your doctor?"

"Randall. Please tell me he's not a total crock."

"No, he's good." _And he might almost have the patience to deal with you._ He was acting shockingly civil at the moment, so she left the though unspoken. The room grew comfortably quiet again, and Remy tried to concentrate on the game. She hadn't actually played chess in who-knows-how-long, and before long, she caught a dangerous spark in House's eye. _Great._ Sure enough, three moves later he slid a bishop into position and looked up, triumphant. "Checkmate."

She pretended to study the board, but if he said she was beaten, she believed him. "You win," she said, and he reached out and tipped over her king. "But I want a rematch tomorrow."

His laugh was almost real, and the sound was a relief to her. "I could have beaten you ten minutes ago, but I wanted to make you feel like you had a chance."

"Right," she scoffed, knowing it was probably true. After rearranging the pieces in the box, she slid it onto a shelf next to his bed.

"So, really," he said. "Why _are_ you only an attending doctor in the ER here?" She paused, not sure why he was asking. "You could have easily gotten a department head position here or at another hospital. You know, a fellowship with the great Gregory House looks good on a resume, along with Cuddy's and my recommendations."

She shrugged. "Maybe power and prestige isn't everybody's dream."

"Yeah, some people love working shift schedules and hanging out in a chaotic mess of broken bones, M.V.A.s, and heart attacks."

_Why is he pushing this question? _Meeting his eyes, she realized he already knew the reason she hadn't tried for a higher position. _Of course, that son of a bitch. How can someone with so little regard for human emotions understand them so easily? _She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Fine, House. You win. I didn't want to become a department head because...those jobs are better filled by someone who can do them for more than a few years."

She didn't want to see the satisfaction on his face at her admission, but there was none when he nodded slightly. "But you're still fine. It's been three years."

"I'm in a new clinical trial...but we both know it's just a matter of time. One year, five years, ten years. No matter how good I feel now, the medical facts don't change. My body is still breaking down slowly." The heavy sadness in his eyes startled her, and she realized she was describing both their situations. They were both dying - her by genetics, him by addiction. His gaze met hers, and she knew he was thinking the same. _The difference is, he could do something about it._

She jumped when a nurse entered and began preparing his bed to be moved. "I'm going to take you down for your last CT scan, Greg."

It struck Remy as odd to hear the nurse call him by his first name. Not even Wilson and Cuddy did that. "CT scan?" She didn't remember any significant head trauma.

"After the bus crash, they have to make sure..." House explained, not quite meeting her eyes. He seemed still shaken by her description of her future, or his. She stood to follow, but he scowled. "I think radiology can handle a CT." Seeing her settle back into the chair, he said, "Go home, Thirteen. I know your shift's over by now, you're done avoiding work."

She knew when not to push it, and she noticed he'd kicked her out in an uncharacteristically nice manner. "All right. See you tomorrow, House." She was halfway out of the room before he grunted a quiet goodbye.


	7. One Who Understands Completely

**Author's Note: A long chapter...Also, alll comments and opinions are what I imagine the characters voicing them would say, NOT necessarily what I believe myself =)**

Remy's quick scan of the ambulance bay revealed Stephen nowhere in sight, but his partner was crouched by a cupboard, no doubt looking for supplies to restock. "Hey, Marcus, has Stephen left yet?"

"Oh, hey, Remy. No, he should be back soon - went to take a shower," he smirked. "Our last run was a woman with a broken ankle. The 911 call wasn't really necessary, and on the way here she was so upset she threw up all over him."

She laughed. "Poor woman. You two might need to work on your bedside manner."

"Usually, when the patient's bleeding out or going into cardiac arrest, that's not our first concern," Stephen commented as he came through the door behind her.

"Hey, all cleaned up?" she teased.

"Spick and span." He shook his head like a wet dog and sent the water droplets still clinging to his short hair flying her way. She smacked his arm jokingly, but he easily caught her wrist, then turned serious. "How's it going with everything?" He tugged her over to sit on the back of an unused ambulance, and she knew he wanted to hear about House.

"His preliminary PT assessment was today, but he wouldn't give me any details. He's doing...better, but he's going to get so bored of sitting in the hospital here. He always has to have something to do, a puzzle to solve...he'll have all the nurses completely figured out by the time he leaves. For their sakes, I hope none of them have anything to hide." Stephen laughed. "We played chess tonight - my idea, of course, but he went along with it. No wonder, he's probably bored already. He was pretty civil for a while."

"For a while?"

She silently cursed. _Should have known he'd pick up on that. _"House has his limits."

He could tell she didn't care to elaborate. "Are you ready to head home? Come on, I'll drop you off."

Grateful that he hadn't pushed the question of what had ended House's good behavior, she agreed.

***********

"Hello?" Remy tried not to sound groggy as she answered her phone.

"Hello, is this Doctor Hadley?"

"Yes..." She scowled at the clock, still trying to get her bearings. _Nine forty? How did I sleep through my alarm?_

"This is Chris Myers, Gregory House's doctor. We were hoping to talk to you before your shift starts at ten thirty."

"Yeah, of course...I'll be at the hospital in half an hour, can it wait till then?" Sliding out of bed quickly, she walked toward the bathroom and grabbed her clothes along the way.

"Certainly. Could you meet me.." His voice faded, and there was a rustling as the phone changed hands.

"Thirteen." House's voice was more gruff than usual - he was in pain.

"What's going on, House? I know you're a doctor, but he is too. It is possible that he knows -"

"Just get here." _Click._

With a sudden sense of urgency, Remy showered quickly and was out the door in twenty minutes. She usually walked to the hospital when the weather was nice, since she lived only a few minutes away and it was often faster than taking the bus. Five hurried blocks later, she whisked through Faulkner's front doors and headed straight to the elevator. After waiting almost three minutes, tapping her toe impatiently, she gave up and headed for the four flights of stairs up to House's room.

Finding the door not latched, she pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped in. "House? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, but the pain lines around his eyes said otherwise. "I've been trying to tell this idiot that for the last hour."

Dr. Myers looked at her apologetically. "Gregory has informed me he doesn't want any more morphine."

"What?" Remy was shocked. House didn't usually disagree with hospital authorities because he wanted to _avoid_ painkillers.

He was impassive and stubborn. "I don't need it."

Seeing the way he wouldn't quite meet her eyes, she asked the doctor, "Could we have a few minutes?"

"Of course," he said, then his voice dropped so low House couldn't hear."But Doctor Hadley...He is justified in taking the morphine. The pain from these burns must be still at unbearable levels."

"Thank you, Doctor." She waited until he stepped out.

"House."

He continued picking at his blanket. "I told you, I can handle pain. I don't need the morphine."

"You can't recover right if you're hurting this bad - you know that. Really, why won't you take it?" He didn't answer. What could he be so ashamed of that he couldn't even look at her? "What are you afraid of?"

His voice was barely audible. "I can't take any more of it."

And suddenly she remembered. According to Eric, he'd abused morphine before. If he was a recovering addict (from that drug, anyway), it would be easy for him to lapse back into dependency. "Because you don't want to get hooked again?" Staring miserably at his hands, he nodded, and the sight sent an unexpected wave of sympathy through her. "Hey, it's okay. I'll talk to Dr. Myers, and we'll get you on something else."

He shook his head stubbornly. "Just Vicodin."

"They aren't going to give you enough, not even as much as you usually take." His gaze met hers for the first time that morning, pleading silently. She sighed, knowing what he wanted. "I can't, House. Only your official doctor can prescribe for you."

"I know you can find a way around that. Thirteen...please."

His actual begging caught her off-guard, enough that she voiced her real fear. "Your liver won't be able to handle more than your normal dose, you know that."

"I don't need more than my normal dose. I can deal with it." She started to argue, tell him he couldn't withstand that kind of pain, but his earnest expression stopped her. _Wow. He's serious. _Since when did House listen to arguments like "Your liver can't take it?"

"All right. But if the pain gets too bad, tell me. I'll get you something stronger instead of just more Vicodin." He nodded, but she could tell he had no intention of following through. She made up her mind to monitor how fast his pills disappeared, then found the paper and pen sitting on his bedside table. Scribbling first the number 13, then a longer string of digits below it, she said, "I'm leaving my cell number here, so you can get ahold of me without going through the hospital staff. If you need me...call." He nodded once without comment, and she held his gaze for a moment before turning to the door.

**********

Two hours passed before she had the chance to slip away to the pharmacy, and another two before she could make it up to room 608 again. Her quiet knock provoked no response, and she silently eased the door open to find House sleeping. Stepping barely inside, she took in a startled breath when she saw his brow creased and sweaty with pain. Suddenly she felt horrible for not being able to bring his medication earlier. Knowing he'd likely just gotten to sleep, she settled in the chair next to his bed and was struck by the thought that she was the only one who had occupied this spot since he'd arrived. _Sad.__..No one should be alone in the hospita__l._

Considering his lack of visitors brought her thoughts back to the disagreement between him and his best friend. Of course House was a complete ass to Wilson, but it seemed to Remy that Wilson had come to accept that fact a long time ago. Surely he knew how much House needed him? After everything the two had been through, she just couldn't see Wilson allowing House to finally push him away.

Remy was pulled from her musings by the rustling of bedsheets. "Good morning, sleeping beauty," she said, then winced as she heard his breath shudder with pain.

"No way it's morning," he groaned. "I couldn't have been asleep for more than fifteen minutes."

"Probably not," she agreed. "I brought you something."

His eyes took on slightly more life at the sight of the orange bottle. "Thank God. Gimme." He reached out toward her, but grimaced and dropped his bandaged arm back to the bed.

She quickly popped off the top and handed him two small white pills, then reached to pour water from the pitcher by his bed into his glass. By the time she turned back to him, the pills were nowhere in sight. Sighing, she put the water down. "Sorry it took so long, busy day in the ER."

"People are idiots," he said, and she assumed he was referring to the fact that most injuries in the emergency room were, in fact, caused by the patient's below-average intelligence. "What was the stupidest thing you saw today?"

The question held just enough casual curiosity to make her pause. Apparently he was bored and in the mood for a conversation, and she did have a good story. "Nineteen year old girl came in convinced there was something wrong with her - cancer, probably. Symptoms: vomiting, especially in the morning; weight gain; and missed periods." House raised his eyebrows, seeing the obvious diagnosis. "She assured me she couldn't be pregnant."

"Everyone -"

"Lies. I know. But she didn't claim she hadn't been having sex - she told me she was fine because they used _saran wrap_."

This earned a snort from House - almost a genuine laugh, she thought. "And this is why abstinence-based Sex Ed is a bad idea. Teenagers these days."

"Not all of them are that bad," she pointed out, half to keep him talking, half because she felt she should defend what was practically her own generation.

"In the Princeton-Plainsboro Clinic, I treated this sixteen year old pothead. He told me he had pain in one arm and both legs. He proceeded to show me that it hurt when he did this -" House poked his right arm with his left pointer finger, "and this -" prodding gently at his right leg, "and this." He touched his left leg. "Care to guess what the problem was?"

"Surely not his..."

"Finger. The idiot had a broken finger."

Remy burst into laughter. "There had to be some outside influence." She gestured like she was smoking something. "No one is honestly that dumb."

"Like I said, he was a pothead."

"Judging by the fact that I don't remembering hearing about a lawsuit for verbal abuse, his parents probably didn't even know about his clinic visit." House's rare smile disappeared, and she didn't understand. "They did sue?"

He shook his head. "I didn't make fun of him. I was feeling nice that day." _Feeling nice?_ She knew the explanation was incomplete, but decided not to push. She was surprised when he offered more information anyway. "It was while I was on the methadone."

Remy was silent, remembering that week. It was her and Eric who figured out he was on something stronger than Vicodin, at the same time Wilson did. They based their suspicions mainly on the incident when he stopped breathing, and the fact that Taub and Kutner realized they were still together before House did. Their initial thought was heroin, but the next day House was back to normal, and the whole team was surprised. It wasn't until Eric confronted Cuddy about it two days later that they found out he had actually been on methadone, which erased his pain. The reason he stopped taking it (other than the obvious side effect of likely death) remained a mystery, but Remy knew it was tied to losing a patient that day. "Well," she said, coming back to the present and referring to the broken-finger kid, "He probably appreciated your treating him like an intelligent being."

His smirk didn't quite reach his eyes this time. "Might have been a once in a lifetime experience."

She studied him for a moment, relieved to see the stress lines around his eyes relaxing. The Vicodin was kicking in. "House -" She was cut off by the ringing of her cell phone. Looking at the number, she saw it was the one she had programmed in for Robert Chase and was grateful it hadn't been sitting anywhere House could see. "I have to take this," she said apologetically. "I'll come back later tonight; my shift ends at six."

"Your boyfriend?" House asked, motioning to the phone. _Boyfriend?_ She was too busy noticing he hadn't argued that he didn't care when her shift ended to decipher what he meant by 'boyfriend'. Ignoring his comment like usual, she stepped into the hall and walked a few steps away before answering her phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Remy. This is Robert Chase. Listen, there's a developing situation here you should know about." She bit her lip - this didn't sound good. "Wilson's starting to worry about House. He isn't buying the 'vacation' story, and he's convinced House is somewhere getting into some kind of drug trouble. He was in my office today asking me if _I'd_ heard from him, to which I of course said no. He told me - don't ask how he knows this - that House hasn't been home in the last four days, but he didn't pack anything like he was going somewhere. I guess Wilson has a key to his apartment."

"Or he's learned something from House about breaking into others' residences," Remy pointed out. "Well, Wilson has no way of knowing he's here..."

"True, but if he gets concerned enough he might do something stupid, like go looking for him. Today, when I talked to him, he was debating whether to call Cuddy and ask if she's seen him. I told him there's no way House would go running there; it would just revive memories of something that will never be the same. Wilson knew I was right, and he doesn't want to worry her, but he's desperate. He still seems pissed at House, but he's so worried I swear he was almost crying today. I don't know what's going on between them, but it's obvious Wilson still cares what happens to him."

"House still doesn't know I called you in the first place, and he hasn't brought up Wilson at all. I've asked if he wants to contact him a couple times, and he just shuts down. I could try encouraging him to call again..."

"I think that's all you can do," Chase assured her. "If he won't...Wilson's hands are still pretty much tied here. He would never think to check Boston hospitals; he has no idea where to even start looking. I feel bad, though - he really is concerned."

"Maybe this can be the first step toward fixing whatever's wrong with those two," Remy said, hopeful.

"Yeah, I tried hinting at asking Wilson about it today. I commented that House had seemed a little upset the last month, and you should have seen the guilt in his eyes. But he didn't tell me what happened, just cursed to himself and walked out."

"And if Wilson won't talk about it, there's no way House will tell me," she sighed.

"You're probably right," Chase agreed, "but you never know. He might tell you things he wouldn't tell other people."

"We played chess last night." She knew he would understand the significance. "And today he started a completely extraneous conversation."

"See," he laughed. "He does like you."

"We'll see about that. I don't want to ask him again about Wilson and the reason he's here yet, but maybe eventually..."

"Whenever you think he can take it. The most important thing here is House's recovery; Wilson's concerns can wait. If it comes to that, I'll tell him I know where House is, he's fine, and I'm not saying a word."

"That won't go over well," she pointed out.

He chuckled. "I can take it. Wilson's never liked me."

"He's jealous of the hair," she joked, then wondered if he would be offended. "Sorry, that just popped out. Too much time around you-know-who."

"Obviously," he complained, but he was laughing too. "Listen...Would you mind giving me a call in a couple days to let me know how it's going there?" He sounded almost embarrassed. "I probably care more than I should how he's doing...He's an ass, but he grows on you after a while."

"Believe me, I know," she assured him. "I'll call you in a couple days, or if anything big happens before then. Thanks for keeping me up-to-date on the situation there, and let me know if you're having trouble holding Wilson off."

"Thanks, Remy. I'll talk to you later."

**Please review! **


	8. Intuition

Remy gasped at the startling jolt and arched her back in the nurses' station chair, squirming away from the frosty sensation. "Stephen!"

He laughed as she whirled in the chair, guilt written all over his face and hands still dripping from carrying the ice inside. "It's a nice day," he told her. "Gets a little warm after two hours baking on the pavement for a MVA call."

Concluding from his playful demeanor that there had been no serious injuries, she couldn't help but smile. "Some of us haven't had that luxury. I've been here dealing with broken bones and heart attacks all day."

"Well, I can say I haven't contributed much to that today. The only real injury I brought in was one fractured radius."

"Twenty year old male who couldn't get his story straight on how he broke it?" She remembered the patient he was referring to.

"That's the one. I think there was some kind of dare involved, maybe relating to a stunt bike and a trampoline."

"College kids," Remy said, shaking her head.

Stephen grinned sheepishly. "Actually, it would have been pretty cool if he'd pulled it off."

"You _would_ think so." She laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't pretend you wouldn't," he smirked. "Anyway, when do you get off tonight?"

"Another hour," she said, looking at her watch.

"Wanna grab some dinner?" The idea wasn't unusual; they often ate together after work.

"I'd love to...but I told House I'd stop in for a while after my shift. Not that he'd care, but I still should drop by."

"Actually, would you mind if I came with you? I'd like to see how he's doing."

"That'd be great," she said, suddenly liking the idea of moral support for the unpredictable visit. Then again..._Oh, shit. What if House says something he shouldn't in front of Stephen?_ She knew she'd have to take that chance - there was no way to back out now. "Want me to come find you at six?"

"I can just meet you up here. I'm going to go shower quick, so see you then."

**********

"Hey, ready to go?" Stephen asked as she returned to the nurses' station after checking up on her last patient. He turned and joined her, heading toward the elevator.

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your flirting with the receptionists," she joked, nodding back at the two still-giggling front desk girls.

"I wasn't flirting!" he exclaimed. "Just talking with them while I was waiting!"

"All right, all right." She held up her hands in mock surrender. "Just kidding."

"I wasn't flirting," he repeated under his breath.

She looked at him and shook her head slightly, perplexed as to why the statement bothered him so much. "I know."

The elevator dinged, and they stepped inside. "Hey Remy...you should know...I did stop by House's room to meet him earlier."

"What?" She was shocked. "When? Why?"

He looked slightly taken aback at her reaction. "This morning. I figured I had to meet this legendary diagnostician and master of sarcasm."

_Deep breaths, Remy. House couldn't have told him...he has no reason to. And Stephen's not acting any different._ "Well?" she said, forcing her voice to stay even. "Did he amaze you with his powers of people-repelling?"

He laughed. "Actually, he wasn't quite what I expected. We...chatted for a few minutes. I see what you mean about his boredom - he was more interested in conversation than I thought he would be."

"Wow, I'm impressed," she admitted. "Not many people could 'chat' with House while he's lying in a hospital bed and still be sane enough afterward to tell about it."

"Oh, come on. He's not that bad."

"Which is kind of freaking me out," she muttered as they reached the door to his room. Stephen pulled it open for her, and she entered with a murmured "thank you."

"Back?" House said, but she knew it was to cover the way his eyes almost lit up when he saw the door open. Then Stephen slipped in behind her, and she saw the spark of interest.

"How's it going?" she asked, trying to ignore the mischief glowing in his eyes.

"I'm in a hospital, how do you think it's going?" he said without even looking at her. His eyes were still on Stephen, trademark smirk gracing his face. "So I was right."

Remy turned to look at him, confused. "No, you weren't," Stephen muttered. He looked flustered as he locked eyes with House, sending some silent message.

The silence grew long, and Remy decided to ignore whatever had just happened until she could get it out of Stephen at dinner. She turned back to House. "How was your physical therapy?"

"Hell, of course. The idiot doesn't seem to understand that I was a cripple before the accident and I'll still be a cripple when he's done with me."

"Hang in there," she said, sounding half encouraging and half reproachful. "He's trying to help you."

"He doesn't understand that my life expectancy is about ten more years - and _I've _accepted that." He was just being glib, but that was beside the point: His next words could raise questions Remy didn't want to answer. Her eyes widened and she prayed he would stick with subtle digs. "Quality over quantity, you know?"

"Don't be like that," she muttered, knowing he would interpret her response differently than Stephen would. House paused, trying to figure out her unusual lack of snappy comeback. Avoiding his gaze, she decided it was time for them to go. "I'll see you tomorrow, House," she said abruptly.

"All right...have fun tonight, kids." His tone left no question as to what he meant, but Remy ignored him in favor of practically dragging Stephen from the room.

As soon as they were safely in the hall, she rolled her eyes and said, "See, I told you he's basically the king of irritating."

"He does know how to get under someone's skin," Stephen agreed, but with amusement in his eyes.

"What was that whole 'I was right' thing about?"

"What do you mean?" The oblivious act was not working for him; she could swear his face was reddening.

"Come on, I saw that look between you two."

He rolled his eyes. "House seems to think we're...more than friends. But I could ask the same question - what's up with our quick exit?"

Biting her lip, she turned to the elevator. "Come on, I'm hungry. Let's go eat." He followed her, reluctantly putting the question out of his mind for the moment.


	9. Knight In Shining Armor

**Sorry the chapters aren't coming very fast, but I promise I'm not giving up on the story, it's just been a busy couple weeks. So here's a long one for you...enjoy!**

"So where are we going for dinner? It's your turn to choose." Stephen took his eyes off the road to glance over at her.

"No, definitely yours!" she insisted. This was a game they always played; arguing over who would decide on a restaurant. "Remember, I chose last time and we went to Rilano?" The classy cafe was her favorite fallback.

"All right," he conceded. "How about Ruby Tuesday's?"

She laughed. "Should have seen that coming. Sounds good."

"You know me and my All-American classics," he admitted proudly.

They arrived at the restaurant ten minutes later and were seated at a table for two. Remy opted for the restaurant's famous salad bar, and Stephen ordered a monstrous cheeseburger with more toppings than she could list.

"Bet you can't eat that whole thing," she commented when it arrived. She'd seen him do it before, but each time it just amazed her.

"You really wanna bet?" he asked with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

She pretended to think a moment. "No, I have faith in you. After all, who would bet against the winner of the Quincy pancake-eating contest?" she teased.

"And proud of it," he said, grinning. Six months ago, while helping him move to a new apartment, she'd come across the t-shirt proclaiming him the winner of the 1988 fundraiser in his home town. She thought it was hilarious, and was determined never to let him live it down.

They dug into their food, both hungry from the long day at work. "So how do you think your patient is doing?" he said, referring to House. He could tell the injured doctor was the only thing on her mind.

"I talked to the doctor in charge of his physical therapy earlier today...I wouldn't have put it exactly the way House did, but he was pretty much right. The doctor wants to fix too much; make House better than he was _before_ the accident. And with House's apathy, there's not much any doctor can do either way."

"Any new ideas on what's causing his depression?" Stephen asked.

"Other than the usual, you mean? It has to be his argument with his best friend. I got a call from Robert Chase at Princeton-Plainsboro today, though - he said Wilson has been worrying about House. He's not buying the 'vacation' story, which makes sense since I sure don't remember House ever taking time off for no reason. Every time he disappeared for a few days back when I worked for him, he was either arrested or on a different drug."

"But there's not a lot his friend can do, since he did email and say he was taking vacation time, right? It's not like he can file a missing persons report."

"That's what Chase and I concluded," she said. "It's a good sign that Wilson's concerned, though...maybe he'll eventually get over whatever the hell this fight is about. I can't even imagine the cause."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "You can't see House doing something that would piss him off?"

"I can't think of anything I haven't already seen House do to piss him off! Wilson has probably the highest House tolerance of anyone I know, and I can't imagine what would be bad enough for them to stop speaking for a month."

"A fight over a girl?" he suggested. "Middle-school style."

"Never," she said without hesitating. "Not that House is any more mature than your average twelve-year-old, but he just isn't that interested in relationships. That would mean putting someone else above himself. Besides, you heard what he said in there...the prognosis for liver failure caused by extreme long-term drug abuse isn't great. Maybe he doesn't want to put anyone else through that with him."

"Just because he might not have as long left doesn't mean he shouldn't try to enjoy the time he does have," Stephen pointed out. "Everyone's mortal, just some people think they know when their time will be up. But we could be killed in a car accident on the way home tonight just as easily as he could die of liver failure next week."

"He does enjoy life, in his own way. He just won't allow another person to tie themselves to his sinking ship."

She suddenly paused, playing back her last sentence in her head. _He just won't allow another person to tie themselves to his sinking ship_. She blinked and pushed the voice screaming comparisons from her mind. "Either way, the only one other than Wilson who can stand him is Cuddy. Everyone thought they were going to get together, but apparently she got sick of his BS too. I don't think he could ever end up with anyone else, and he and Wilson don't exactly go for the same types anyway," she said, bringing the conversation back to the reason for the friends' disagreement.

"Maybe a work-related fight," was Stephen's next idea. "Disagreement over a patient's diagnosis?"

"I don't remember a patient they _didn't_ disagree on. House doesn't take it personally when someone doesn't agree with his insane theories, and Wilson usually doesn't even doubt him anymore because he's somehow always right. There has to be something more going on...Maybe Chase will figure it out. If Wilson gets worried enough, he might share anything he knows that could be a clue to where House went."

"Give it time - House could decide to tell you what's going on. After all, he can't avoid it forever; he's only here for another ten days."

She grimaced. "As it gets closer to time for him to go back, he'll just get angrier and more withdrawn. If this problem isn't solved by then...I don't know how he'll cope with that and his recovery at the same time."

"He's a grown man, Remy. He can deal with it."

"Sometimes," she said quietly. "Other times I swear he's just a ten year old boy afraid to look like a wuss or catch cooties."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he reminded her again. "All you can do is be around and see what he decides to share."

**********

Remy arrived at the hospital just after nine Friday morning, mind still racing over everything that had happened in the last four days. As she pushed the button for floor 6 on the elevator, she realized this was strangely familiar; her first destination every morning being to check in with House. _It's not like he has anyone else to visit him,_ she tried to rationalize, _although Stephen seems to be changing that._

"Hey," she said, pushing open his familiar door and glad to see he wasn't at physical therapy yet. "How's breakfast?" She gestured at his tray with a smile.

"Like cardboard dipped in corn syrup," he grumbled, poking at the "waffle" with a suspicious glare. As soon as he caught sight of the Panera bag in her hand, though, his eyes lit up. "Please tell me you brought a starving cripple some sustenance." He clasped his hands together in an exaggerated begging motion.

"Blueberry or cinnamon?" she asked, moving the hospital meal from his bed tray and pulling several bagels out of her sack instead.

"Seriously, no chocolate chip?" he complained, reaching for a cinnamon one. "You have to at least have cream cheese."

"Plain and honey-nut." She set both before him. "You're welcome."

She was actually surprised when he said, "Thank you," casually but not sarcastically. Spreading a liberal amount of plain cream cheese over his bagel, he bit in and was nearly half done before she even processed the comment.

He polished off both halves of the first bagel and reached for one of the blueberry ones before he spoke again. "You're surprisingly awake this morning, and I know you don't do caffeine. Didn't get any last night?"

"House," she admonished. "Stephen and I aren't together."

He snorted. "Yeah, I could tell by the way he stopped by yesterday because he was a 'friend of yours.' He wasn't as amazed as most people are by my stunning wit, so obviously he expected it. The only way he could have known is if you told him, and I know you don't just volunteer information about your past, including your past bosses. Therefore, you're obviously close."

"Close, yes. Friends. Believe it or not," she said, knowing she was just inviting remarks about her bisexuality, "I do sometimes make friends who are male."

Much to her surprise, he let the opportunity pass. "Tell Knight in Shining Armor that. Another of those damage-loving, feed-on-neediness types."

She knew he was drawing that conclusion because he thought Stephen was dating her while knowing she had a terminal disease. She didn't bother to correct either of those assumptions. "Think what you want," she said dismissively. "Not like anything I say will change that."

"Especially after yesterday," he muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"All I'm saying is that you better make sure you and KSA are on the same page with the 'just friends' thing. Unless you're lying to me, and somehow covering up the signs of the wild sex all last night."

"Stop calling him that," she snapped. "And since when do you give personal advice?"

"Just saying," he shrugged. "I don't have a lot else to do here. Maybe I should start a 'Dear Abby' column...call it 'The Love Doctor.'"

"Hilarious. And while you're at it, just take over Public Relations for Princeton-Plainsboro." She rolled her eyes.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he said, nodding to the clock. Nine forty five.

"Shit, I'm la - wait. How the hell do you know that?"

"My physical therapist told me I should walk a few yards if I could," he explained innocently. "The nurses' station on this floor is just a few yards away. All kinds of computers."

"That doesn't explain how you could..."

"The nurses never bother to sign out except at the end of their shifts. How many clinical trials for Huntington's treatment do you think are scheduled in this hospital? All patient files go to the same mainframe."

She scowled. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'm actually shocked you would violate my privacy like that."

"Some people never learn," he said, shaking his head.

"Should have known you'd cause trouble with nothing to do," she muttered, but her anger was already ebbing. Looking up the time of her weekly appointment wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done to her - testing her for the disease without her consent beat it by far. And really, he was probably going out of his mind with boredom. If stalking her schedule was what entertained him, so be it. Maybe it would divert him from the Stephen puzzle.

She decided to at least pretend to be angry for a while. No need to let him off too easy. "I'm going to my appointment now. If there's anything else I'm forgetting, page me," she snapped as she left briskly.

"Thirteen -" She barely heard his voice following her, almost...regretful? _I'll deal with him later. I don't have time to play his games right now._

_Reviews please =) they're my motivation to write!_


	10. But When Two Worlds Collide

**Sorry so slow...busy time. My spring sport is about to end though, so I'll have lots of time to write soon! I promise I'll keep them coming!**

Remy tugged at her sleeve as she left the exam room, making sure it was all the way down. She rounded the corner, focused on escaping quickly, and ran straight into a firm chest. "Whoa! I'm sorry!" Strong arms caught her, and she processed the familiar voice at the same time her eyes reached his face.

"Stephen! No, my bad." She stepped back and reached up to run a hand through her hair. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"Didn't expect to _run into_ you down here," he grinned. "Whatcha up to?"

"Just checking on a patient."

He didn't miss the way she gazed at the floor instead of meeting his eyes. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said a little too quickly. He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Gotta run, my shift starts about...now," she explained, already halfway to the automatic doors.

He watched her go, then turned in the direction she came from, intending to find out what "patient" she would be checking on in the clinic area. _Wait. Don't be nosy. _It certainly seemed like she was hiding something, but even so, it was her business. _She'll tell me when she wants me to know. _Reluctant but resigned, he headed back to the ambulance bay.

**********

Mundane paperwork was usually something Remy didn't mind - it allowed her to go through the motions while letting her mind wander. Today, though, as she sat at the ER nurses' station shuffling papers and entering patient information in the computer system, she wished for a task that required her full attention. Between House's presence, his mysterious conflict with Wilson, and his determination to see her and Stephen as a couple, her thoughts were whirling.

_Damn it, if something comes out of that big mouth of his in front of Stephen..._She could only hope he'd stick to comments about her bisexuality when he felt the need to mock her. _Or I could tell him not to bring it up...but would that have the opposite effect? He always went out of his way to cause problems between me and Eric, but I guess he was right about that one._

_So does the way he keeps bringing up the idea of Stephen and I together mean he approves? _She shook the thought from her head. _Why the hell does it matter? Next thing you know I'll be writing in to "The Love Doctor." _But if she was honest with herself, she did have to admit his opinion mattered a little. _Just because he has that weird intuition about people that's usually right on. He's like another species that can interpret human emotions objectively because he doesn't feel them himself...or at least he pretends not to. That son of a bitch has to feel something._

And somehow, she knew he did. _The only reason for him to be so defensive about what happened at PPTH is that he got hurt - which means first, he had to somehow make himself vulnerable. Bet he won't be doing that again._ She understood what it meant to let someone close enough to hurt when your usually M.O. was to keep everyone at a distance. _Wilson knows how hard it is for him to let anyone in. Once he won that trust, how could he turn around and throw it back in House's face?_

She actually smirked to herself then. _This is ridiculous. I'm pissed at Wilson for getting fed up with _House._ He's probably the most patient person in the world...if he snapped, there has to be a good reason. If only I had any idea what...House isn't going to volunteer the information. Not yet anyway. Maybe as it gets closer to time for him to go back to Princeton, he'll get more desperate and want to talk about it..._

_Who am I kidding? House doesn't "want to talk" about things. He deflects questions and avoids issues with cruel comments. But there's no avoiding this - in nine days he'll have to go face whatever's waiting for him at PPTH._ She was surprised to realize she was having trouble with the idea of him leaving forever. _Nothing like his smart-ass sarcasm to keep you on your feet._

After leaving Princeton-Plainsboro the first time, she had so much going on - new apartment, new city, new job - she barely took time to think about what she left behind. When she did remember, it was with an overwhelming feeling of relief at being free from all that now. With her newest visitor at Faulkner, though, she was beginning to see that she hadn't been imprisoned by the demands of her difficult boss, but by her ever-so-caring boyfriend. At first Eric's concern had been nice, but after the clinical trial violation and her resulting side effects, she began to feel suffocated by his presence. Instead of love, the emotion she saw in his gaze was pity - and if there was one thing she couldn't stand, that was it. Fear of pity was the reason she tried to keep her condition a secret in her first months at Princeton-Plainsboro. She didn't want to be a the dying doctor, the one with the beautifully tragic story to feed whispers, so she decided to get out.

_It was the right decision._ She'd spent the last three years telling herself she wasn't running away again, just making a necessary change. _Right, which is why I'm petrified that House will spill my old life into my new._

**********

Eight hours later, Remy pulled off her scrubs in the locker room and stuffed everything into her blue duffel bag. Exhausted, she still jabbed the "up" button on the elevator, to stop in and see House before heading out. She pushed the door open cautiously, hoping he'd moved on from the Stephen issue. "Hey, how you feeling?"

"Same," he said, distracted by the bag on her shoulder. "Leaving?"

"Eventually." She shrugged. _Does he actually look disappointed? _"I'm off the clock for the weekend."

"Oh." _Definitely disappointment!_

"But I could stop by tomorrow," she suggested tentatively. "Bring a movie or something to do."

He hesitated a few seconds before answering. "No chick flicks. If I'm going to be stuck watching it with you, make it something decent."

She smiled, understanding his reluctant agreement as the plea it was meant to be. "You really think I'm the chick-flick type? Don't worry, I promise to bring enough explosions and badass cars to get you through a few days."

"Good, because harassing the nurses is getting old. It's always the same three, and they're no fun."

"Actually, those are the only three that dare to come in here after all the horror stories the others have heard from them," she smirked.

"Come on, I'm not that bad."

But she saw the glint of pride in his eye and laughed. "You know the saying 'Doctors make the worst patients?' Understatement of the year."

**Comments please =)**


	11. Just When You Think You've Got A Hold

"I know change isn't your thing, but I went with cream cheese danishes instead of chocolate chip bagels today," she said as she swept through the door Thursday morning. He didn't sit up or even glance at her. "House? Are you okay?" Alarmed, she glanced at his monitor and saw all vitals strong.

As she approached the bed, he propped himself up on his elbows and snapped, "I don't want a danish." Taken aback, she opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted. "Don't you have anywhere else to be?"

"What...are you okay?" she asked again.

"Don't I look okay? I don't think I can be much clearer...I don't want breakfast. It's not like they don't serve it in this hospital, I don't need you to bring me food. Go to work or something. Just not here." Stunned, she froze where she was for a moment. "Seriously. Go." He turned away.

Absolutely shocked and confused, she backed out the door still clutching the Panera carry-out bag. _What the..._She didn't want to admit how much the sudden hostility hurt. Fighting back uncharacteristic tears, she turned and fled to the empty stairwell.

By the time she reached the abandoned storage nook three flights down, her tears had turned to anger. "Asshole!" she growled, kicking the wall in frustration. "What the _hell_?" She just didn't understand why he didn't want her there that morning.

Saturday, she'd brought in a selection of movies and typical junk food, and they'd spent the afternoon and most of the evening together. As strange as it was to admit, it was actually enjoyable. When he wasn't in defense mode, he could be almost considered good company. The conversation remained light, and she was careful not to brush up against any subject that would make him uncomfortable or raise his defenses.

Since that day, they'd fallen into a routine. Mornings were bagels - blueberry for her, chocolate chip for him, both with honey-nut cream cheese. The nurses frowned on her bringing him coffee, but twice she'd snuck one in anyway. Then throughout the day, she'd stop in to see him when she had a chance, just to say hi and add a little variety to his monotonous routine. Each evening, she came by after her shift with some kind of food: sandwiches usually, once it had been Chinese carryout. They had a chess rematch (which he won even faster than the first game), but the next night she got her revenge winning Jenga - a game she liked to play because it required the steady hands she so cherished. Wednesday night was House's favorite soap opera, and he spent most of dinner filling her in on the background so she could truly appreciate the experience when it came on.

Remy had even become more comfortable with Stephen spending time with House. After all, it was good for him to have another visitor so he wouldn't feel so isolated. And if House was going to share everything he knew about her, he would have done it by now. Maybe House was too wrapped up in trying to figure out her and Stephen's relationship, which she really didn't mind at all - since they were _just friends_. So when both the men told her Stephen had stopped by House's room on Tuesday, she hadn't been alarmed. She was even a little impressed, since Stephen still hadn't seemed shocked at House's lack of people skills. He was acting almost like a socially well-adjusted individual.

Which was why his outburst this morning stung so much. _All I've done the last few days is try to make his fucking life easier. Bringing him food and movies, spending time in that room...and this is what I get? He was fine last night when we were watching his fucking soap opera. What the hell is he so mad about? He couldn't have found out I called Chase. Even if he had, he wouldn't be this upset about it. Yell at me, maybe, but not just tell me to get out. What else could his problem be? I didn't do anything! _

_Is he in more pain? _With that thought, she straightened up against the wall and wiped her traitorously overflowing eyes. _All right, Remy, pity party over. The one thing you know about House - when he's hurt, he lashes out like a wounded animal. The only reason this got to me so much is that I started to expect him to act normal, but he's still House. If something's wrong, he's not just going to come right out and tell me about it._ Determined to get to the bottom of his strange behavior, she took a calming breath and climbed the stairs back up to the sixth floor.

**********

Remy knocked lightly on the office door labeled "Chris Myers, M.D."

"Come in," a voice called. She entered to find the middle-aged doctor seated at his desk, which was covered in paperwork. "Hello. Dr. Hadley, isn't it? Greg House's friend?"

"I guess," she smiled, surprised he remembered. "Actually, I was wondering if I could speak with you about his case."

"Certainly. Of course, I must respected patient confidentiality policies since this isn't an official consult, but I would be glad to discuss anything I can."

"Thank you. I'm not even sure what I'm asking...Maybe I should just tell you why I'm here. This morning, when I went to visit House, he was unusually hostile - wouldn't even look at me, just ordered me to get out. See, for as long as I've known him, he's dealt with persistent pain from his leg injury. I've found that sudden anger and defensiveness are a sign that his pain is worse than usual. So I was wondering if you were aware of any increased pain problems, or any changes in his condition that could cause this?"

The doctor leaned back in his chair. "As far as I know, his condition is actually improving. His pain-scale rankings have been going down to a level he described as almost normal, and his mobility has been increasing as well, which is why he was put up for early transfer."

"Excuse me?" Remy was confused.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Doctor Randall, his physical therapist, and I agree that the rest of his recovery can be monitored through an out-patient program. So this morning he was put on a list for transfer back to Princeton-Plainsboro, where he can be released and finish his therapy from home."

"I...Oh...Thank you," she stammered. "Thank you for your help." She turned and left the office quickly.

**Please review! It's discouraging to get no feedback =(**


	12. Here It Goes Again

**Again, sorry the chapters are taking so long. Slow but steady...I promise I'm not giving up on the story! I have an ending in mind, but I'm not sure how many more chapters it'll take to get there. I'll keep writing as fast as I can as long as I get reviews =)**

Remy barged into the men's locker room, which was thankfully empty other than the paramedic she sought. He looked surprised to see her there - for good reason - then took one look at her face and said, "What's wrong?"

She ran a hand through her hair and sat on the wooden bench before trying to answer. "I went to eat breakfast with House this morning, as usual. I barely got through the door before he freaked out and told me to leave. No explanation, no nothing. He wouldn't even look at me."

His scowl deepened. "I'm sorry, Remy. He should appreciate you more than that."

"I was pissed for about three minutes, then I started to think. Back when I worked for him, we all learned not to take it personally when he lashed out. Usually being edgier than normal was a sign that his leg pain was particularly bad that day. So I went to talk to his doctor, to find out if there was any negative change in his condition."

"And?" he asked when she paused.

"Doctor Myers said he's been doing great - so great, in fact, he's being sent back to Princeton tomorrow morning."

She saw the understanding cross his face, and he sighed. "Wow. So he's not taking it too well."

"Little bit of an understatement. This is a disaster, Stephen. He's obviously not ready to deal with whatever happened at home."

"Maybe being forced into going back will be good for him. He'll have no choice but to face the problem."

She chewed her lip, concerned. "I don't know. When House feels cornered...he might do something stupid."

"You don't think he'd...hurt himself?"

"He wouldn't outright kill himself," she said quietly, "but he could slowly self-destruct. Vicodin, morphine, anything he can get his hands on, mixed with the alcohol. If no one's there to stop him, and he _knows_ no one's there...it'll kill him." Stephen was at a loss for advice, so he just listened. "He was doing so well, too," she said after a pause. "I've never had such normal conversations with him. And in his own roundabout, completely passive way...he was actually being nice." Since the main example of his strange kindness was enabling her to keep her secret from Stephen, she didn't elaborate. "I feel like if I just had a little more time, it might get to the point where I could ask him what happened between him and Wilson. If he told me about it...there wouldn't really be anything I could do except give him advice he'd no doubt ignore.

"He might act like he's ignoring it," Stephen interjected. "But still, if he could talk about it, that'd be one step closer to facing it."

"Either way, it's too late. Just the idea of going home tomorrow is a major setback for him. It'd take days to get back to the point where I might be able to ask him about it. Now, I don't see any way to make that happen. Once he goes home..." She clenched her teeth against the stinging in her eyes. Her gaze dropped, and several moments passed before she spoke again, barely audible. "I don't know if I'll ever hear from him again."

Stephen was silent. _Because he won't contact her, or because he won't be around much longer?_ An idea was quickly forming in his mind, but true to his nature, he paused to think before speaking. _It could put so much extra stress on her. And if something happens, she'll just feel all the more guilty. Who knows if he'd even agree to it?_ There was so much he knew he didn't know about the situation; years of history Remy kept carefully guarded.

Then she looked up, and caught the ponderous look on his face. "What are you thinking?"

_It's her call. _"There is one way you could have more time with him," he said slowly. Her silent gaze encouraged him to continue. "He could do some of his out-patient time here. It would be logical, after all, to continue with the same doctors. And the lowest-stress environment is always best for rehab." Meeting her eyes, he saw cautious hope creeping into them. "The only two questions would be whether he could take more time off work...and where he would stay."

He could see the gears turning in her head, trying to make the idea work. "He can get whatever time off he needs. If it's necessary, Chase will talk to the Dean of Medicine and explain parts of the situation. And...I have an extra bedroom."

"You know, this isn't something you have to do. It wouldn't be easy to have him staying with you, and he's a grown man, not your responsibility."

She was becoming more animated as the thought sunk in. "No, it could work. You have a point about keeping the same doctor. And his recovery will be much faster if he doesn't have to deal with whatever the hell it is he's so bent on avoiding." She paused, and her face fell. "But he'll never agree to it. That would be like admitting he needs to be here."

"Don't be so sure," Stephen said. "If he wants to delay going home enough...You might as well ask him."

"No," she said decisively. "I won't ask him, I'll tell him. If I ask him there's no way he'll stay. But if I act like it's already arranged and decided, he might just not make a fuss."

"Sounds good...if you're sure you can handle him for that long."

She laughed. "I used to put up with him all day, every day, and that was when he was holding all the cards. This will be a piece of cake."


	13. Odd Couple

She paused at door 608, leaning her head against the frame for just a second. Then, with a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. "You aren't going back to Princeton tomorrow."

He glared at the wall, but at least he was sitting up this time. "Yes I am. That balding quack told me."

"_Doctor Myers _told you that this morning. He decided this afternoon that it'd be best if you could stay with him and Dr. Randall for a while."

Finally he looked at her, albeit incredulously. "Right. That just occurred to him. Anyway I don't need to stay in the hospital anymore, so the logical place for me to go would be my apartment. Which is in Princeton."

"Logical, except for the switching doctors," she reminded him.

"I _am_ a doctor, therefore I know that isn't a problem. Stop bullshitting me. What, you think I've formed some kind of bond with those two that's accelerating my progress?''

"No," she said, then paused. "But I do think there's something at home that will hinder it."

He snorted derisively. "What would you know about anything back at Princeton-Plainsboro? I doubt Foreman's keeping you in the loop, and if you knew anything, you'd know Dumb and Dumber are long gone."

"I don't know exactly what's going on there, but I know what's going on here. This morning was like a smack in the face, House. A week of acting almost civil, then suddenly, you won't even speak to me. And I was pissed." She stopped a moment, choosing her next words. "But I know you." _Hopefully that won't scare him._ "There had to be a reason for you to act like that - at first I thought you were in more pain physically. Then Doctor Myers told me you were going home."

"You don't know anything about me," he muttered, glaring at the sheets.

"You're wrong." This wasn't going well. "Here's what's going to happen, House. You're going to stay in Boston for another two weeks. Then your doctors will re-evaluate whether you're ready to go home."

"What are you trying to do? I know you're not serious - they wouldn't keep me in this hospital for two more weeks. I don't need to be here; my therapy can be done with a clinic visit a day."

"I didn't say you're staying in the hospital. There's an apartment a few blocks from here."

"I shouldn't even have to point out the idiocy of that idea. Getting an apartment for two weeks, while still paying for my Princeton one?"

She braced herself for his reaction. "No rent. I have an extra bedroom."

Silence reigned for a moment as his facial features appeared to be debating on how to arrange themselves. Settling for scornful disbelief, he said, "Me. Stay with you. As if that would ever work."

"It'd be easy for you to get back and forth for physical therapy. I won't be bugging you; I'm here all day anyway. What's so hard about it?"

"Don't want to be kept up all night by you and KSA?"

She gave him a look. "For the millionth time, it's not like that. Seriously, this will help you get better faster."

"You think Faulkner is a better hospital than Princeton-Plainsboro?"

"Debatable, but that's not the point. Patients heal faster when they can focus on their recovery. You need to get to where you can handle going home and resolving whatever issue sent you here in the first place. That won't happen while you're still hurting this much."

"So I'm going to stay with you until the pain goes away and I face my problems? Don't be an idiot, Thirteen. I'm going home." He was more vehement now.

"No." Not angry but certainly firm. She waited, unperturbed by his analytical gaze. "I'm _not_ an idiot. I know that before the accident, you were in pain. And dealing with issues has never been your strong suit. But you're a doctor too. You know that with injuries like this, half the battle is mental. So my professional opinion is that sending you back to a stressful environment, with all the outside influences that obviously affected you before, would be a severe setback to your recovery."

"I don't need you to protect me from my own life," he snapped, "especially when you have no idea what it is you're doing."

"The reason I don't know is because you won't tell me!"

She immediately regretted her words when he drew back as if he'd been slapped. His eyes shut in a wince, and he rubbed his forehead, looking almost confused. "Get out." His voice was so quiet she tried to ignore it. "Out," he said again, and she saw the conflict in his face when he glanced up. "Just give me a few minutes."

Perplexed, silent, she left. Once in the hall, she found herself at a loss as to where to go, so she settled for pacing the corridor. As usual, 5:00 p.m. was a lull in the activity, just before the bustle of evening visitors and dinner carts hit. House, of course, would have no evening visitor except her. _A person alone in the hospital is the saddest thing in the world, even if it is House._ She felt foolish admitting it, as a doctor, but she had a strange fear of hospitals. It was difficult for her to be completely at ease - so many people dying. _So many people being saved, too,_ she reminded herself. _This hospital has its heroes, too. You just don't see them in action as much as with House at Princeton-Plainsboro._

Her mind wandered to Stephen. His shift ended at five, but he told her he'd wait for her to finish talking with House. As much as she hesitated to admit it, especially with House's recent allegations, she was relying heavily on his steady support in this tumultuous situation. He was just so easy to talk to: always listening and offering information, never pushing her toward a path of action. _Maybe he'll want to go get dinner again tonight. I could use the company._

Suddenly House's voice echoed in her head. _"Just make sure you tell Knight in Shining Armor that."_ Could there be something to his comments? House had no idea how to deal with human emotion, but that didn't stem from an inability to interpret them. She'd always known he was strangely perceptive..._but that doesn't mean he knows anything about me and Stephen. We're just friends. Neither of us has ever given any sign of wanting more than that. I'm not being naive here, am I?_

"Dammit." Determined to keep her thoughts on mute, she decided she'd given House enough time. Knocking lightly, she pushed the door open and found him staring pensively at the ceiling.

He sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but she knew if he was going to agree to the idea, it would be easier for him if he didn't have to say it. "Any argument you come up with, I've already addressed. It'll be fine, House."

"I do have a job to get back to, you know," he grumbled, and she felt like cheering. Resorting to that flimsy argument meant he was accepting the idea.

"And I also know you can find a way out of it. Sick days, vacation days, some kind of excuse."

"Ground rules," he began firmly. "You don't comment on my Vicodin, diet, sleep habits, or anything else. Not even a 'look.' When I say leave me alone, you do it. That said, you should know I sleep whenever I goddamn want to, not necessarily when the rotation of the planet says I do. So before at least noon, no loud music, slamming doors, hair dryers, et cetera."

She smiled, not even remotely bothered by him setting rules for _her_ house. "I think I can live with those. And I just have one to add - you go to _all_ of your physical therapy sessions."

"Not like I'll have anything else to do," he conceded.

Wincing at the thought of a bored House turned loose, she amended, "and you at least _try_ not to wreak havoc on my apartment?"

He smirked mischievously. "No promises there."

"Well, what did I expect?" She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Are you okay with staying here tonight? Won't try to run away or anything?"

"Yeah." He was suddenly more serious. "Thirteen, I won't try to run away."

"Good," she said, catching his eye. She understood the words for what they were - his own roundabout, hidden way of saying "thank you."

**Yay :) Pleeease review!**


	14. Differential

**A/N: Slow and steady...here's another chapter. I have three days left of my spring sport, so I'll have all kinds of time on my hands after that! So faster updates soon, I promis****e.**

Two rings..._He's probably not in his office this late. _Another ring. _Come on..._"Hello?"

Remy breathed a sigh of relief at the now-familiar Australian accent. "Chase? This is Remy Hadley again."

"Oh, hello, Remy. How's it going with our patient?"

"Well...how's everything there?"

"Same - no one's concerned except Wilson, who seems to be panicking. There's still not a lot he can do. I think he's accepted that House will be back whenever the hell he wants to. I've never seen him this upset, though."

"So whatever argument sent House running in the first place, Wilson seems to be over it?"

"Looks like it from here," Chase confirmed. "Of course, once he's not so worried, he might be pissed again."

"House seems to think so," she said. "Which brings me to my reason for calling. House has been unusually civil the past few days. You'll never believe this, but he's been letting me bring breakfast, stop in during the day just to say hi, and come watch TV or play board games in the evenings."

She could hear his smile on the other end of the phone. "Actually, I do believe it. I told you he always liked you. So he's doing better?"

She sighed. "He was. This morning, I found out he was listed for early transfer back to Princeton-Plainsboro."

He took in a sharp breath on the other end of the phone. "How'd he take it?"

"He knew before I did, and he wouldn't even talk to me. It took me a while to figure out why. He was scared, Chase. He withdrew and nearly bit my head off when I tried to talk to him."

"Of course," Chase groaned.

"But I had an idea - actually, a good friend of mine did," she continued. "If House could handle these things separately, first the extra leg injury, then the problems at home, he'd definitely recover faster. You know as well as I do that with both those stacked on top of each other, he'd hide away and self destruct."

"And it's better for his and Wilson's fight to be worked out on its own, so they can deal with the real root of it without the added element of House's injury," he agreed.

"So we were thinking...it'd be better for him to complete some of his out-patient time here." He was silent, waiting for her to continue. "Obviously, out-patient means he won't be staying in the hospital, but I have an extra bedroom." She held her breath, praying he would think it was a good idea. Chase was the only one she'd spoken to about the issue who was familiar with House, so his opinion mattered.

"Well...wow." He sounded surprised and cautious. "And have you run this by him yet?"

"Again, you'll never believe this...he actually agreed to it. Of course he argued a little, and I had to tell him instead of asking, but as of right now, he's coming over tomorrow morning."

She smiled when he let out an impressed whistle. "Wow. Good luck. You sure you can handle that?"

"It'll be fine. I'll be at work most of the day, and he'll have physical therapy and exercises to do at home."

"You don't want him entertaining himself on your internet or TV," he advised her, laughing.

She grimaced at the thought. "Thanks for the tip. Anyway, I hope to get a little closer to figuring out what's going on with him and Wilson. If you make any progress on that end, will you keep me posted?"

"Of course," he promised. "He still doesn't know we've talked, right?"

"No, I thought it'd be better this way for now. I'll tell him if he needs to know, but till then..."

"I'll keep it to myself," he agreed. "If you need anything, please call me anytime. The next couple weeks won't be easy."

"Thanks, Robert. It helps."

"I'll talk to you later. Goodbye, Remy."

**********

Remy dug through a hall closet in her apartment that night, searching for an extra set of sheets. "Gotcha," she mumbled as her hand closed around them. _Good thing I have that bed in the guest room._ She wouldn't have bothered, but it was there when she first rented the place.

The guest room was sparsely furnished, but it would do. Across from the bed sat a small wooden table with a simple engraved design. The closet was empty; the walls unpainted. _Not like House will care. It's better than a hospital._ She spread the blankets over the bed, then glanced around the room once more. _Well, that's that, I guess._

Leaving what was soon to be House's room, she walked through the rest of her apartment in an attempt to tidy up. Dishes to the sink, laundry to the basket, shoes to the door, makeup to the bathroom..._Wow, this place is a mess._ She didn't usually let it get so chaotic, but it had been a busy week. Besides, there wasn't usually anyone around to see it. She had few friends outside of work - years of the party-girl lifestyle left her sick of that scene. It just seemed so shallow. Dinners and occasional movie nights or sporting events on TV with Stephen were much more appealing. _Not while House is here; he'll never let it go._ Maybe, she hoped, he'd be too distracted with his own problems to try to screw with her and Stephen. _Yeah, right. If anything, all his issues will just drive him to meddle more, to find a distraction._

_I just HAVE to figure out what's wrong with him. He's acting so weird about the Wilson thing...it's almost like he's ashamed of whatever it is. I've seen him do some pretty bad stuff, take advantage of Wilson while mocking him and poking at his weak spots, but he's always been proud of his manipulative skills. This...he's not proud of. That means he crossed some line he's always stayed back from, and God knows I have no idea what that could be. Was there really anything off-limits between him and Wilson? Even Amber was fair game for sarcastic comments. If there's some sacred topic House won't use against him, they've kept it well-hidden..._

**Anyone have any guesses as to what they're fighting about?? If someone guesses it this early I'll be impressed =) Reviews and thoughts please!**


	15. Run To You

"Hey, how's it going?" Remy didn't miss the careful look accompanying Stephen's casual greeting as she arrived at the nurses' station. She was later than usual because of her treatment appointment that morning, a fact he wouldn't miss. _Eventually he's going to notice I'm late every Friday._

"Busy already," she answered, but she knew he didn't mean the ER. Last night he'd called after she talked to Chase and offered to drive her and House to her apartment around 10:00 that morning so they wouldn't have to mess with the bus. She gratefully accepted, and she knew she was also accepting the fact that Stephen would be keeping them company frequently during House's stay. She like having him around - was even starting to miss him when he wasn't - but it still made her nervous not knowing what House might say. Even comments about her old party-girl lifestyle would make Stephen wonder. She'd alluded to a wild past, but never revealed the extent of it, knowing that would require an explanation since it was so far from the Remy Hadley Stephen knew.

Always adept at reading her moods, Stephen moved on quickly. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, let's go." Seeing the congestion near the elevators, she opted for the stairs, and he followed her. She waited till they were out of the noisy ER to say, "Thanks, Stephen. For being here this morning."

"Of course," he assured her, touching her arm as their eyes met. Hers were filled with a rare insecurity. She paused, then turned and started up the three flights of stairs.

**********

They arrived at room 608 to find the door already open. House was sitting up in bed, hospital wristband still present, but fully dressed in street clothes. "Finally," he grumbled, but he looked almost glad to see them.

"And good morning to you, too," she said, already flipping through his chart to make sure he was cleared for discharge. She signed her own name as the discharge doctor, and turned to find Stephen unfolding the hospital wheelchair stashed in a corner. She bit her lip and winced, waiting for his reaction

"Listen, I don't need the Knight in Shining Armor routine. I'm quite practiced at walking with one leg a little under full capacity." House brandished the hospital-issue cane leaning against his bed for emphasis. "I even have this rental here, since my Old Faithful died a noble death last week." Remy knew he was bluffing; he couldn't walk to the elevator, out of the building, to Stephen's car, and into her apartment without considerable pain. But he wouldn't give this up easily - a significant portion of his life was devoted to retaining the ability to walk. Sitting in that wheelchair would rub his pride the wrong way.

"Hospital policy," Stephen said casually. _Good approach_, she thought. Making a big deal out of the wheelchair would just make it harder for him to accept using it.

"Where's your stuff?" she asked. He pointed to a bag on the fake-wood nightstand. "That's all you have?" The knapsack was tiny, the kind that could be carried easily as a backpack. She narrowed her eyes, curious again as to why he was biking through Boston and apparently not planning to be gone more than a couple nights.

"What, you expect me to put a suitcase on my bike?"

She silently conceded the point, picking up the bag and swinging in onto her own shoulder. "Alright, let's go."

Holding her breath, she watched as Stephen pushed the wheelchair next to the bed. Without comment, House swung one leg over the side of the bed, then the other. A hand on the nightstand, weight on his good leg, and he maneuvered into the chair. Stephen turned him toward the door, and that was that.

_What?? _She couldn't believe he'd given in so easily. Resisting the temptation to glance at Stephen over his head because she knew House would feel it, she grabbed his cane and followed the two out of the room.

House tensed visibly as they came around the hallway corner to the bustling nurses' station. "Cane," he requested tersely.

She hesitated, but handed it to him. _Of course. It's like his security blanket. _She knew he just wanted to feel like he could be independently mobile if he had to. He accepted it wordlessly and clutched it firmly with both hands, relaxing slightly only when the elevator doors closed behind them.

"See the Nets game last night?" Stephen asked, startling Remy out of her analysis of House's behavior. "I missed it, late shift."

House smirked. "That sucks, it was a great game. Your pussy Celtics got their asses handed to them, again."

"You just wait," Stephen said with conviction as they made their way through the lobby. "The Nets don't have a chance if they meet again in the playoffs." And Remy realized what he was doing. _He probably already knew the Celtics lost. Giving House someone to mock, all in good fun, was the best way to relax him in this uncomfortable situation. _She was so impressed and grateful she could have just hugged him. _Genius. __God, it'll be good to have him around._

"Right," House said scornfully. "Like that group of leprechauns will even make it that far. Come over to the blue side."

"I'm no fair-weather fan!" He acted indignant, and Remy laughed.

"Boys," she said, shaking her head.

"Right, because you never participate in such male activities as betting pools and bachelor parties," he scoffed, and she didn't even mind the sensitive topic because she saw the spark in his eye. Still, she was glad they reached Stephen's car at that moment. She opened the passenger seat door for him, and he deftly swung his body in, dragging his right leg after with a wince she didn't miss. Without comment, she folded the wheelchair and slid it into the backseat next to her.

The unlikely trio arrived at Remy's apartment five blocks later and repeated the process in reverse, removing the wheelchair for House to get himself into. She was thankful he didn't argue this time. _Hopefully this won't be a battle I have to fight every day. He should be walking soon._

_Good thing I live on the first floor,_ she thought, walking next to Stephen as he pushed the chair up the ramp to the building door. Through the lobby and one short hall, then they arrived at her apartment. She fumbled with the keys, then swung the door open and held it for Stephen and House to enter.

"Can I _please_ walk now?" House acted like they'd practically strapped him in to the chair, but they both let it slide. It was a pride thing.

"Go right ahead," she said, nodding to the cane he was gripping. He tried unsuccessfully to hide the grimace when he pushed himself up to standing. _It'll be impossible for him to cover up every time he's in pain._ Debating between helping him and pretending not to see, she opted for a middle ground. She dug into the bag still hanging off her shoulder until she came up with one of what she knew were many small orange bottles. Tossing it to him, she bit her tongue as he shook out four pills and swallowed them dry. _Four? I've never seen him take more than two. But rule number one: no comments about his addictions._ "Your room's back here," she said instead, moving toward the hallway and waiting for him to follow. He did, slowly, and she walked ahead so he wouldn't feel like he had an audience.

**Please, please review!**


	16. Your Anything

**SO sorry it's been a while!! I was on vacation and didn't have much internet access, but now I'm home and ready to write!**

Less than half an hour later, the three arrived back at the hospital, Stephen pushing House in his chair again. Remy and Stephen were technically still on-shift, and House's first physical therapy session was scheduled for noon. "Gonna go scrounge up something edible in the cafeteria," he muttered as soon as they entered the first-floor lobby. He shoved the wheels himself, spinning off toward the cafeteria and proving he was quite adept at moving around himself.

"You could have gotten something to eat at my place," she commented to his retreating back, not expecting a response. They watched him go and walked toward the elevator. "I'm impressed," she said as they stepped inside. "I thought he'd never get in that thing."

"Another day or two and he'll be walking," Stephen predicted. "He sure is good with that chair, though."

"It's not the first time he's had to use one," she said quietly. "I wasn't around after his infarction, but I get the idea it was months before he started walking again."

"He'll do the same this time, Remy. He's not ready to give up on life yet."

"Why do you say that?"

He shrugged. "I just get the feeling there's something he wants to get back to."

She sighed. "Good. I thought I was imagining that, wishful thinking. Because what could there be? He's got to be bored of his job by now, without Cuddy to enable his risk-taking. He has no family, no girlfriend or anything - at least not that Chase knows of, and he would have heard - and his best friend is angry at him. And by best friend, I mean only friend." Stephen just listened, allowing her to work through her thoughts. "After Wilson's girlfriend died, House blamed himself - she was on the bus because she came to get him from a bar, then after the accident he couldn't even remember she'd been there. Once they realized she was lying in a Princeton General bed, House figured out what was wrong with her...too late. There was nothing anyone could do. Wilson was so hurt, he just left. Quit his job at the hospital two months later, refused to talk to House. It took months and House's father's funeral for the two of them to make amends."

"But they did?"

"Yeah, they were back to their same practically abusive relationship pretty quick. Which I think should have proved to House that no matter what, Wilson will be there. So whatever happened last week...I can't even imagine what would be worse than Amber's death, but House seems convinced things will never be the same."

Stephen was silent, thinking. "I know you don't want to ask him again, yet. But he might be more willing to tell you than you think. If he was planning on keeping his secrets forever, he wouldn't have agreed to stay here - there would be no point. His problems would still be there in two weeks when he goes back. The only reason he was so willing to stay is if he's working up the courage to talk about it with you, or waiting for you to drag it out of him."

"Why me? I don't have any special advice. And that doesn't explain why he was here in the first place. He wouldn't seek me out all the way in Boston."

"Maybe it's more important than you think. Maybe there is something you can tell him that no one else can."

"I don't know _what_ to tell him!" She rubbed her forehead in frustration, trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of her mind. _We have so much in common that Stephen doesn't even know about. But what could I have to say about both our impending deaths that could solve a problem between him and Wilson? M__aybe it was a coincidence that he ended up in our ER._ She knew House didn't believe in coincidences, but they did happen. "Maybe in the next week something will change."

**********

Remy said a quick prayer and steeled herself for what she might find before pushing open her apartment door after 10:00 that night. When she found the entryway free of carnage, she proceeded with caution another few steps. Into the living room, she discovered House asleep sitting up on the couch and "The L Word" on low volume flickering across the TV.

Pausing to see if he was really awake and just trying to avoid the slightly awkward situation of staying at her place, she saw his chest rising and falling evenly and was satisfied. She considered taking the easy way out and going to bed, leaving him to move to his room whenever he woke up, but her grumbling stomach reminded her she'd skipped not only dinner but lunch too. Finally kicking off her shoes, she flipped on the kitchen light and contemplated the contents of the refrigerator. _Wonder what House had for dinner._ The options were few, but she didn't notice anything missing. _Probably Vicodin and beer,_ she thought, though the only beer she kept was a girly type and still a full six-pack on the bottom shelf.

Pulling out left-over stir fry from earlier in the week, she dumped half into a bowl, then changed her mind and put the whole container in the microwave. _Maybe if House wakes up he'll want some real food._ The microwave beeped, and she yanked open the door before it could make much noise, half hoping he would keep sleeping. Separating the meal into two dishes, she stuck a pair of chopsticks in each and walked back into the living room. Taking a seat in the chair next to the couch, she settled both their bowls on the coffee table and reached to take the remote from its place next to House. Just as she flipped the channel, he began to stir.

Remy glanced over and caught the moment in which he woke up, when his face contorted slightly with the omnipresent pain. Rolling his shoulders, he reached to rub his leg even as his eyes opened, and she realized she was staring. "Good morning," she deadpanned. "Breakfast?" He squinted at the dish, then reached for it without comment. _Lucky he didn't consider that trying to control his diet._

They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Remy nodded to the TV. "L-Word marathon?"

He looked at it as if he hadn't realized it was on, then nodded. "I was bored," he said gruffly, looking almost embarrassed to be caught watching the show. _Hmm. He used to act like every L-Word marathon was a national holiday. He would announce it as he was leaving work early, and make sure Wilson was planning to...oh. Touchy subject?_ Sure enough, he was already reaching for the remote.

Remy finished the last of her dinner just as he settled on a late-night talk show. "I'm going to turn in," she said. "Do you need anything?"

He shook his head. "No. Thanks," he grunted.

Then a thought occurred to her. "You only have one change of clothes," she reminded him. "What are you planning on wearing the next week?"

He mumbled something she couldn't hear. "What?"

"Knight in Shining Armor's got it covered," he said, only slightly louder. "Goodnight, Thirteen."

Getting the message that he didn't want to talk about it, she conceded. "Goodnight, House." _Knight in Shining Armor's got it covered?_

**Please review and the next chapter will be here soon!**


	17. Like a Needle Needs a Vein

**Good news if you're getting a little bored with the story...things will start to happen in the next couple chapters! I already have 18 and 19 written so they'll be up soon =) In the meantime, if anybody has any guesses regarding House and Wilson's fight...**

Remy woke early Saturday morning, surprised, since she'd been so exhausted after her long week. _Of course, the day I don't have to be at the hospital._ Finding it impossible to get back to sleep, she rolled out of bed around 8:00 and decided to get out of the apartment a while. Ten minutes later she laced up her favorite pair of running shoes and grimaced at the grunginess. _I really should retire these._

Her usual route took her through the park across from the hospital, four miles of quiet trail that was hard to find in the city. She'd always liked the outdoors, but wasn't much for running until Med School. The stress wore her thin her first year, and the discovery of the hobby was a lifesaver. Now, after a hard day or week, she would pound out her thoughts through half an hour with her Asics and iPod.

Cutting through the hospital parking lot, she spotted Stephen's car and remembered he was scheduled to work that morning. House's comment from the previous night suddenly popping into her mind, she decided to stop in and catch him before his first emergency call.

"Hey, Stephen," Remy said casually as she entered the ambulance bay where she knew he could be found.

"Hey, what's up?" He wasn't surprised to see her in workout clothes; he knew it of her running addiction and favorite location near the hospital. "How was the first night with your guest?"

She shrugged. "Smooth, I guess. I got home late last night, and he was of course still sleeping when I left this morning."

"He won't be up for a while?"

"Nothing short of Cuddy's cleavage - the old Dean at Princeton-Plainsboro - can drag him out of bed before noon," she laughed. "He did say something last night that made me curious, though," she said carefully.

"What's that?" He didn't seem to have any idea what she was getting at.

"I asked him what he was planning on wearing today, and every other day, since he only had one change of clothes in his bag the night of the accident."

"Oh...yeah." Stephen looked almost guilty. "He thought of that while he was still in the hospital, I guess. I stopped in to visit him during my shift the day it was arranged for him to stay with you, and he asked me where around here was a good place to buy a few essentials, so I offered to take him when he was released. I thought it'd be easier if he didn't have to mess with the bus in his wheelchair, even though he can push himself. I didn't mean to go behind your back, but he asked me not to mention it to you. I have no idea why..."

Remy smiled at the way Stephen looked like a puppy ready to be chastised. "It's okay, I get it. He just wanted to avoid one more way of showing vulnerability. He's too proud to admit he needs help with things. Thanks for helping out, Stephen. He seems to be really comfortable with you."

His face flushed slightly. "I think he likes to harass me about the two of us."

She rolled her eyes. "If that's what entertains him..." _It's not the worst thing he could bring up._ "If it bugs you, I can say something to him...not like that'll have much effect."

"I can take it," he laughed. "I've been called worse. Besides, maybe if we just ignore it he'll get bored."

"You wouldn't believe that man's perseverance," she commented. "He sexually harassed his boss - Cuddy - the entire time I worked for him, and according to Eric, he'd been at it for years before I got there. Rumor had it they slept together twenty years ago, and he's been passive-agressively after her since then."

He paused. "Who's Eric?" The question was curious but quiet, almost cautious.

She cursed silently - she hadn't meant to say that. _What the hell? I don't just let things like that slip._ It wasn't that she was trying to keep secrets, but it was easier not to go into some things. Her rare Princeton-Plainsboro-related stories usually featured House being House or Kutner's antics, with Taub making an occasional appearance. Eric was carefully skirted around any time she talked about her previous job. She knew Stephen would pick up on the fact that Eric was the only one from PPTH she'd ever referred to by his first name.

Sighing, Remy said, "Eric was the only member of House's original team that still worked for him when I was hired. Well, in theory he had authority over House for a while, but of course that was a joke." She bit her lip, and decided to go for the straightforward explanation. "And we dated a while."

Remy raised her eyes to Stephen's face and for a split second, found him listening pensively. Then he laughed. "I can imagine House raising hell any time anyone tried to corral him. When we went shopping, there were a few times I feared for the lives of store employees. I think they learned to never, _ever_ pity someone in a wheelchair."

She blinked, surprised that he seemed satisfied with the little information she'd given about Eric. A sudden rush of gratitude hit her. _He changed the subject on purpose?_ "Oh, of course. Everyone at Princeton-Plainsboro learned long ago not to treat him like a cripple."

The lights on Stephen's team's ambulance flashed suddenly. "Stephen! Heart attack, gotta go!" called Marcus from across the bay.

"Sorry, Rem." He was already swinging on his jacket. "I'll catch up with you later?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Be careful."

**********

By the time Remy reached the trail, her music was blasting and thoughts racing. _How could I accidently bring up Eric? That's never happened. I don't walk around the hospital blurting out things about my past and personal life._ The wall between her mind and mouth was usually bulletproof. Always observing, rarely commenting was her M.O.

The thought occurred to her that if the slip had to happen, Stephen was surely the best one to witness it. She saw the curiosity in his eyes, but he hadn't pestered once he sensed she didn't want to talk about it. _Or he read more from my response than what I said._ Normally proud of her impassive outward expression, she got the uncanny feeling Stephen could see more than most. _Kind of like House that way._ She shuddered. Comparing Stephen and House was just wrong.

_Although they do seem to get along. Shopping, honestly?_ It did make sense that House didn't want to ask her about where to get clothes, because she of course would have offered to take him. The resulting outing would be awkward for both of them and only emphasized the fact that he needed help with the most simple everyday tasks.

_Thank God for Stephen. Dealing with House on my own would be like single parenting. It'll be nice to have somebody to back me up and tag-team a little. Although I'm still not sure how he got so involved all of a sudden...he just met House a week ago. Pretty sure he doesn't know what an ass he can be yet. He might be getting a taste of it with House constantly harassing him about the two of us..._Which brought her to another unsettling question. _Why hasn't House broadcasted my Huntingtons to all of Boston? Shattering people's carefully constructed lives is what he lives for._ She couldn't even count the number of times she saw him limp triumphantly into a patient's room to announce to the spouse that they'd been lied to or cheated on._ There's something weird going on here. He has to want something. _Her mind went back to Stephen's comment. _"He's working up the courage to tell you something, or waiting for you to drag it out of him." What could be happening that he wants to talk to _me_ about? There has to be a reason._ As much as she tried to ignore it, she had to confront the idea niggling at the back of her mind._ We do have something in common: dying. But how could that cause the fight between him and Wilson? There has to be something I'm not thinking of._

Realizing her thoughts were going in circles, Remy turned up her music and tuned out everything else. Strengthening her strides, she resolved to put it all out of her mind for a few miles.

**Please comment! It keeps me going!**


	18. Remember Those Walls I Built?

"All right, see you then." Remy flipped her phone shut.

"Good God." She jumped at the voice behind her - she hadn't heard House enter the kitchen. "Snap out of it, I think I'm going to be sick."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know I'm allergic to that lovebird stuff." _Here we go again._ "Let me guess, Stephen?" He gestured to the phone.

She rolled her eyes and turned to put water on the stove for her tea. "Good call. He's bringing take-out over tonight to watch some basketball or something. I guess he likes you," she said with heavy sarcasm.

He snorted. "Yeah, I'm not the one who he gazes at with those eager puppy-eyes."

"Come on, House. Don't do this. I don't know how many times I have to tell you we are good friends, nothing more."

A few silent moments passed, and she thought he'd given up. Then he spoke again, quietly. "You lied."

"Everybody lies. Not nearly as much as you think they do, though. Again, what are you talking about?"

"You said you weren't running away. You said you'd let somebody take care of you."

"What? When did I say...Oh God. How the hell did you read..." She turned and fixed him with a glare just barely tinted with curiosity.

"It wasn't hard. Foreman brooded for almost a month after you left. During differentials, he'd stare into space like a complete moron, always fingering something in the pocket of his lab coat. When a poor cripple tripped and spilled his coffee on the coat, Foreman had to take it off..."

She rolled her eyes again. "And yet again, you amaze me with your utter lack of regard for personal boundaries."

He didn't want to discuss his accomplishments. "You lied," he repeated.

"I didn't lie. I'm not running."

"Stephen doesn't know."

She knew what he meant. It was true, and House knew it was, but now that it was in the open, would he spill her secret? "No, he doesn't. He doesn't need to."

"You don't think he would want to know? You don't think he would care?"

"He doesn't _need to know._ It would just complicate things. Look how Princeton-Plainsboro worked out."

"So what are you going to do when you start showing symptoms? When you can't write legibly on charts? Can't hold your head still while having a conversation?"

Her anger flared at his words. "Why are you doing this, House? I am fine. I don't need _you_, of all people, showing up and telling me I should confide in someone before I die. Please, once you tell me why the hell you're _here_ in the first place, then lecture me about keeping secrets and the importance of connecting with other people."

Expressionless, he stared at her for a moment. Then without a word he turned and limped away.

_Don't do this,_ Remy told herself, retreating to her bedroom. _Do NOT start feeling bad for him. He has no right to say things like that._ But she knew his cruel words were often a cover-up for something else. _WHY is he here? Stephen's right, there has to be a reason. If he wasn't trying to accomplish something, he'd be back in Princeton already. I've been out of his life for more than three years - what could have happened to bring him here? I have no relationship counseling to offer, which he knows perfectly well. He decided to take a break from mocking me for having no friends to come to me for advice about his?_

_**********_

The afternoon stretched on in quiet tension, and Remy spent it doing mundane housework and generally avoiding House, which was easy since he wasn't eager to see her either. Time passed slowly in the oppressive environment of the apartment, and she wished their argument could have been avoided. Still sulking slightly, she was between anger and understanding._ If he would get over it and come out of "his" room, everything would be fine._ Neither was the type to apologize; they would both just pretend nothing happened. _What if he's pissed enough he decides not to be so tight-lipped around Stephen? He knows a few words is all it would take to throw my life back into turmoil. Surely he won't...but will he?_ She suspected his unexplained consideration would only extend so far.

A knock on the door around 7:30 pulled her away from her worries. On the way to open it, she wondered why Stephen bothered to knock this time. Her apartment wasn't locked yet, and even if it was, he had a key and usually just came right in. _Fewer questions from House this way, I guess, if he was even out here to see this._ "Hey," she greeted Stephen as she let him in.

"Hey, how's it going?"

The question was meant to be casual, but it gave Remy a decision to make. _Do I tell him about our fight and just stay vague on what it was over, or tell him everything's fine and hope House acts like it? _She went with option B. "Pretty good...I've hardly seen him at all." _That's the truth. _"He's taking a nap or something. How was work?"

If he suspected her evasion, his expression didn't show it. "Uneventful," he answered. "Two heart attacks, both middle-age men, and they were both fine. And an MVA, but we weren't really needed there."

"Good," she said, knowing that for a paramedic, boring days were the best ones. They wandered into the living room where Stephen set the two bags he carried on the coffee table. "Thanks for bringing the food. What've we got?"

"Sun Hao's," he answered, naming a fast-food Asian restaurant they frequented. "Your #4, my #2, and a bunch of random stuff - I figured one of us would take care of anything House doesn't want. He is joining us, right?"

This time she caught a note of concern with the curiosity in his voice. "When he's ready," she assured him, hoping he wouldn't push it.

Mercifully, he didn't. "Oh, he'll be ready as soon as he hears this," Stephen said, flipping on the TV and finding the Nets vs. Celtics game. "Third game."

"You're right, House wouldn't miss the chance to rub your face in third Boston defeat." The score was already 10 to 2.

"You just wait," he said with conviction. "You'll see." She smiled and shook her head. His loyalty to the pathetic team was comical, but also pity-inducing.

He pretended to pout at the condescension on her face, so she patted the couch cushion next to her for him to come sit. Feigning reluctance, he flopped down and reached for both their meals, then handed her the chicken lo mein. They ate quietly for a few minutes, both wrapped up in the game, and before long Remy heard the familiar _clunk-slide_ of House's gait.

"Had enough yet, masochist?" he asked Stephen, nodding to the TV.

It was true, the Nets were winning by 20 points at the end of the first quarter. "I'm not giving up yet," Stephen insisted. "Food?" He gestured to the bag still sitting on the table in front of them. Without comment, House rifled through the containers and selected one, settling on the chair with it and a pair of wooden chopsticks.

The meal was quiet, but not uncomfortable. House and Stephen bantered lightly about their game, and Remy just watched, impressed. She knew Stephen was extremely easy to get along with, but it seemed even _House_ liked him! _Or as much as he likes anybody, at least. _Remy let out the breath she'd been holding since he emerged from his room. If he hadn't said anything yet, chances were he was going to let their argument that afternoon stay in the past. But why the sudden consideration? She'd expected him to announce her medical status just to get back at her. _Whatever. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, I guess._

"Fortune cookie?" Stephen asked, a much-needed distraction from her thoughts.

Unwrapping the cookie he handed her, she broke off half of it and pulled out the slip of paper. Out of habit, she glanced at the generic proverb. **_No one can meet the needs you won't let show._**

**Well, I promise things WILL start happening fast, next chapter =) which will be up sooner if I get some reviews!**


	19. Crash & Burn

**Here is the much-awaited (hopefully) chapter in which things actually happen =)**

"Coffee?" Remy asked the two men, extracting herself from the couch around 10:00.

"Sure, thanks," Stephen agreed.

"Real or that decaf shit?" House grumbled. She waited - he knew she didn't do caffeine. "I guess."

Almost comforted by his customary rudeness, she headed into the kitchen and poured three cups of already-brewed coffee. Stephen took his black, and she remembered House did too, so she added cream only to hers and gave it a stir. Picking up two cups with one hand and one in the other, she turned to go back to the living room.

_Crash._

The next instant, hot coffee and ceramic shards exploded across the kitchen floor.

Stunned, Remy stared down at the shattered mug, then at her left hand still holding two others. _One cup of coffee doesn't slip. _ Even as she began to put together what happened, Stephen flew through the doorway. "Are you okay?" She didn't answer, both hands trembling now. "Hey, it's okay. It's just a cup of coffee." He bent to pick up some larger shards, then caught a glimpse of her face. "What's wrong?"

_Clunk-slide. Clunk-slide._ Instead of meeting Stephen's gaze, she flicked her eyes to the door just as House stepped into view. He stood and took in the scene - mug on the floor, two others in one hand, her standing shaking and scared in the middle of the kitchen. By the time his eyes met hers, she had all the confirmation she needed. _He didn't switch my decaf for regular this time. And he knows it didn't just slip._

_Stephen spoke, still concerned. "Remy. Talk to me. What's wrong?"_

For another moment, her gaze remained locked to House's. Then he gave a slight nod, and she thought she saw a glimpse of near sympathy there before he turned. The click of his cane told her he was retreating to his room.

Left alone with Stephen, she glanced down disbelievingly once more at her hands, then finally met his eyes. Guilt stabbed at her; they were full of concern and fear. _And this is the least of what I'll do to him._ Her heart ached at the thought of dragging him into her impending fate. _Run, Stephen. Get as far as you can from this sinking ship._

But instead, he stepped carefully around the mess on the floor and pulled her closer. Gently prying her hands from their rigid position in front of her, he tugged her in and wrapped his firm arms around her. Staying just far enough to see her face, he whispered, "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

The quiet assurance was enough to make tears well up in her eyes, and she suddenly clung to him and ducked her head to his chest. Hiding her emotion was futile; soon the sobs shook her body against his. _I'm sorry, Stephen. I'm not strong enough to do this on my own. Too selfish to send you away._ She gasped out the word without meeting his eyes. "Huntingtons." _I'm so sorry to do this to you._

She was silent, and seconds passed like years. _Say something. Anything, _she begged him silently. "It's a degenerative neurological disease," she explained. _He knows what Huntingtons is. Shut up._ But she continued just to avoid looking at him. "Hereditary. No one knows when the symptoms will set in, but once they do...there's no cure. It starts with muscle weakness and spasms, then increasing lack of control..."

She faded off as she felt him began to shake with tears. "Oh, Remy." And he clutched her tighter, nearly suffocating her with his grip. "I'm sorry. So sorry. No one deserves this less than you." Crying again now, she shook her head wordlessly. "You should have told me."

"There's nothing you can do. I'm already in a clinical trial, my third. Obviously, it's not working as well as they thought..."

His voice shook. "Friday mornings."

"You suspected," she said, not surprised.

"Not this. Never this. I knew there was something...Maybe nothing serious, or maybe even cancer. But I never thought this."

"Now you know," she said quietly.

He paused, then gazed down at her. "Hereditary. That means..."

"My mother." _Please, not now._ She couldn't do a long, detailed life story right now. Suddenly exhausted, she leaned her head down against his chest and closed her eyes. She felt a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair in a way she found strangely comforting.

They stayed that way until she lost track of time and both their quivering sobs subsided. When he finally leaned back just slightly enough to look at her, she met his eyes almost fearfully, not sure what she'd find there. Instead of grief, distance, or even anger she expected, he looked pensive.

"You've been hiding this for three years." She nodded in answer to the simple statement. "House knew..." he murmured. "Did everyone know in Princeton?" Another nod. He studied her a moment. _What is he thinking? _"And that's why you left."

She hesitated. "Not exactly. Maybe. I don't know. Everyone there saw me as the beautifully tragic young doctor who unfortunately wouldn't ever be able to take advantage of the job opportunities my fellowship with House would open up. Between House's constant abuse and Eric's overbearing concern...I couldn't deal with it myself. I needed to start over."

Abrupt pain crossed his face. _What? What did I say?_ She didn't understand until he spoke. "So now that I know..."

And she knew what he was asking. _Will I leave again? Pick up and move?_ It wasn't something she wanted to do._ I'm happy here...I WAS happy. What if this changes things?_ She pulled back from his arms. "I don't know, Stephen. I don't know." Suddenly she needed space, needed time to assure herself she wasn't going to drown in pity again.

She felt him study her, silently reading her as always. "I should go," he said quietly. "It's late, you're tired." He paused, which she knew was to measure her reaction. The relief must have been evident on her face, because he stepped back looking slightly stung and ran a hand through his hair. "Remy..." But instead of completing the thought, he turned and walked to the door.

Instead of the freedom from suffocating concern she expected, she felt as if her only source of air had been snatched away. _No. Don't do this, don't hurt him._ "Stephen," she called, and he glanced over his shoulder. _Come back. I need you. Don't go._ "Neither of us work tomorrow. I'll call you?" she said lamely.

He gazed at her for a moment, as if waiting for her to blurt out all the things whirring through her head. _Please understand,_ she willed him silently. But he simply nodded. "Of course. Goodnight, Remy." Then he was gone.

**Reviewwws :)**


	20. Mirror, Mirror

**Annnd....Here it is :)**

Shock reigned for a moment as she stared at the closed door. Then pain ripped through her and tears began to drip from her already puffy eyes. _Idiot. Idiot, Remy. This is why you run._ She retreated to her bedroom and eased the door shut, then flopped on her bed and buried her head in a pillow.

_It's better this way. Distance now will pay off in the long run. To depend on him would just be self-centered._ As much as it tore at her heart, she considered whether leaving things the way they'd ended minutes ago would be the right course of action. _He's angry, which is better than hurt_. _W__hy put him through more than I already have? He has no responsibility to me. Let him walk away, move on._ She felt sick at the thought, but knew it was for the best. _I know what this disease does to everyone around it. When I can't control my body, let alone my emotions, do I really want him to be the one bearing the brunt of the angry outbursts? And that's assuming he'll even forgive me for tonight or want any part of my soon-to-be-changing life._

She found it almost easier to confront the coffee cup incident than the uncertainty over Stephen. _Could this really be it? That cup didn't just slip. Muscle weakness, involuntary spasms, loss of control...textbook. How long until I can't ignore it anymore?_ She had the logistics of long-term care and disability insurance covered but tried to avoid thinking about the time when she'd be forced to use them. _Don't get ahead of yourself. You're not drooling and stuttering yet._

Her thoughts were interrupted when House opened the door without even bothering to knock. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in her facedown position on the bed. "KSA didn't stay for a night of pity sex?"

_Of course._ She hadn't expected anything but insensitive mocking anyway. "We...are...not...together." _Whatever. No point in arguing with him._

"Why?"

She lifted her head and turned to look at him. "What?" _That wasn't what I was expecting._

"Why aren't you together?"

An exasperated glance. "Why would we be?"

"Isn't it obvious?" His voice was quiet and unusually sincere.

She studied him, noting the missing signs of sarcasm. _What is he doing?_ Wary of being force-fed any words she answered with, she said, "House, I see nothing in this situation that indicates we should be dating. So if you do, please point it out to me."

He paused, ice blue eyes boring through her. "You aren't this upset about a coffee mug."

"What just happened was the first sign of a disease that will take my independence, strength, mind, and life. You don't think I'm affected by it?" she snapped, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Of course you are. But you know one twitch doesn't mean you'll be using a walker tomorrow. Had it happened anytime but while you were holding a coffee cup, you probably wouldn't even have noticed. The real problem is that your perfectly constructed life shattered along with it. The perfect life that obviously revolves around one person."

"So, what? You think Stephen and I will get married and live happily ever after? News flash - that's not going to happen. I don't know how long I have to live, and I don't know how much of it will be good years. In eighteen months I could be showing serious symptoms." She was ranting now, and without thinking blurted out the reservation she hadn't even admitted to herself. "And even before I decline, I'm not exactly stable relationship material. I'm not sure if you remember how my last relationship ended? Let me refresh your memory - he came home to a half-page note, and I was gone. No goodbye, no explanation, no idea where I went. I don't do commitment well. I can't do that to Stephen. If we go down that road, there's no turning back to 'just friends.' When I start to suffocate and I run, or cheat, or distance myself...it won't just be breaking up with a boyfriend. I'll be alone, and breaking my best friend's heart in the process. He won't want anything to do with me after that."

Taking a long, shuddering breath, she bit her lip and glanced at House. _What?_ Instead of the sarcasm or awkwardness she expected, there was a mosaic of emotion in his eyes. Pain was the most obvious; physical or something else, she couldn't tell. Blurred with the pain she found a certain longing, almost wistfulness. Guilt was there too..._Guilt for what?_ And barely there was something else that rang familiar to her very core. Something she couldn't quite identify. Something she had known well, like the distinctive scent of a childhood school room or a song from long ago.

And then as he dropped his eyes from her piercing gaze, she knew. It wasn't something she'd seen, but something she'd felt. Defiance, bitterness, mixed with a sliver of angry shame - the uncertainty of being caught in something she knew wasn't wrong, but was certainly against the norm.

_"You do it both ways, right?" Her head snapped up, and that panicked uncertainty gripped her. Eyes wide, she stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. "The ultrasound. Lying down or standing up. What else would I mean?"_

Her own words echoed back from moments before."T_here's no turning back to 'just friends.' When I start to suffocate and I run, or cheat, or distance myself...it won't just be breaking up with a boyfriend. I'll be alone, and breaking my best friend's heart in the process."_ The words that had frozen him in this heart-wrenching pain. "House?" Tentatively, she watched his eyes flicker across the floor and refuse to meet hers.

Then he spoke, voice ragged and gravelly. "And he knows all that. He wants to spend with you whatever time you have left. He's willing to take the risk you'll eventually leave. He wants to be there for the cozy evenings everything's all right and for the nights you wake up screaming. He's not asphyxiating you, he just _cares._ And the worst hurt for him would be watching you scared and alone. He'd rather hold your hand on the bathroom floor when you drink too much just to get lost than sit up at night wondering if you're drinking alone. Because he knows exactly when and how you need him." And he turned and limp-hopped quickly to his room.

_Oh, God. Oh, GOD. House. Wilson. Of course._ For the third time that night, she found herself utterly stunned. And House's heartfelt speech still echoed in her mind, which was bouncing like a ping-pong ball between him and Wilson, and her and Stephen. _"Whatever time you have left...scared and alone...he just cares...exactly when and how you need him."_ Stephen had always been there, always known when supportive silence was more helpful than discussion or advice. He knew when to bug her about something, and when to let it be. And if she was honest with herself, she couldn't deny that they'd been blurring the lines between "friends" and more lately. _House is an ass, but he sure can read people. She could have sworn she had no tears left, but her eyes began to well up again. __What if I've already pushed him away too long? What if he's not even interested in a relationship with a dying woman?_

Just as quickly, her thoughts shifted back to House's situation, where there were still too many unknowns. Rolling off the bed, she crept to the door of the guest bedroom. She knocked quietly, and hearing no response, pushed the door open.

He sat on the bed facing away from her and didn't turn around at the intrusion. "That's why you left Princeton. Were you coming to find me?"

"I don't know." His voice was barely audible. "I knew you were in Boston, but I didn't think that night. Just got on my bike and found myself here."

She understood he was more comfortable with distance, so she situated herself on the floor near the door. _Wilson must have approached him. But..._"Was it because you weren't interested, or because you're afraid?"

"We slept together. A month before I came here." _Must have been when Chase noticed him start acting weird around Wilson._ She remained silent, hoping he'd continue. "You know how he is. He wanted it to mean something."

A quiet moment. "And did it?"

"That's not the point," he muttered. "It wouldn't work, for all the reasons you listed."

"But what you said...it wasn't about me and Stephen."

He acted as if he hadn't heard her. "I was pissed at him, and at myself. For messing up what we had. We didn't talk for a month...I had to get out of there."

She bit back the lecture about responsibility and worrying Wilson. "And now?" Still facing the wall, his head dropped a little more. "House, everything you said earlier is true. He knows you, and he knows what he's getting into. He's not going to wake up in three months and decide he wants to be with someone who will buy him flowers and teddy bears that say 'I love you.' And he knows your future is uncertain, but he's willing to face that with you." Tears began to flow again as she thought of Stephen.

He turned to face her, and she read the words on his lips rather than heard them. "I know."

**EDIT: All right, a little added comment about the pairings. I started this story thinking it would be House/Thirteen, then Stephen kind of just happened. I couldn't get it to work with H+13 _because_ they're so similar. Neither of them would be willing to take the first step. I love Houseteen stories because they're my two favorites, but in this one they would have ended up out-of-character and I hate that.**

**On that note, I also sometimes think House/Wilson is out of character, but I tried to keep the story true to both of them. Sorry there was no slash warning, but I didn't want to spoil the outcome of the story. Sorry for those who are disappointed =(**

**One last chapter on the way - kind of an epilogue/wrapping up loose ends.**

**Please review and let me know what you think, good or bad!**


	21. For Better or For Worse

**Epilogue**

_Eight months later_

Stephen took her hands in his as she reached the front of the aisle and turned to face him. She gave a teary smile and glanced at his trembling hands. "So cliche," she whispered, voice quavering, as the minister began to speak. Stephen nearly wept with relief when he felt her hands steady and strong, not shaking as they occasionally were these days.

"I love you." He mouthed the words, and saw her eyes well up.

"I love you too." The minister, the crowd, the wind rustling through the trees all faded from his thoughts. Here, the sunlight sparkling in her blue-gray eyes, was the woman he'd dreamed of since he met her. _Who would have guessed?_

Then a pause in the hum of the minister's voice, and she was speaking. "I, Remington Hadley, take you, Stephen Henderson, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward for ever and ever."

A single tear rolled down her face, and the lump in his throat threatened to choke him. His voice was shaking as he gripped her hands and spoke the words he'd memorized. "I, Stephen Henderson, take you, Remington Hadley, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward for ever and ever."_ For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. I love you._

"Remington and Stephen, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." And he did.

**********

Like the ceremony itself, the reception was a small outdoor affair, just a time for guests to socialize with each other and the newly married couple. In attendance were Remy's father and Stephen's entire family - mother, father, brother, and two sisters. His sisters both brought their husbands and children, and Remy's new nieces and nephew took an instant liking to her. Also present were several acquaintances from Faulkner and a few non-work-related mutual friends.

But the guests that most interested Stephen were what Remy referred to as the "Princeton-Plainsboro crew." The couple had been chatting with others coming through the impromptu greeting line for nearly twenty minutes before the first of Remy's old colleagues approached.

A tall blond man accompanied by an even blonder woman waved from across the lawn. "Chase and Cameron," Remy whispered to Stephen as she waved back and the couple headed their way.

"Congratulations!" squealed the woman, hugging Remy. Stephen was slightly taken aback at the enthusiasm.

"Thank you; you too!" She hugged the man as well, then turned to Stephen. "Stephen, this is Allison Cameron and Robert Chase. They were married last month."

"Congratulations," he repeated, shaking both their hands. "So you're from Princeton?"

"Yes, we met working for House - whom I recall you're familiar with - years ago." Stephen smiled at Chase's accent, and the two couples made small talk for a few minutes before Chase and Cameron said they had better head out toward Princeton.

"Wow, that's a lot of happiness in one place," Stephen laughed as they walked away.

"Talking to Cameron always wore me out," Remy agreed. "And Chase has been head-over-heels for her for years. Oh, look! Here come the boys."

He knew who she was referring to - she always called her former colleagues "the boys." But when he followed her gaze, he saw a third trailing behind the other two approaching. Before he could ask, the first, who appeared to be of Middle-Eastern descent, had reached them. "Thirteen! Congratulations!"

He hugged her, and she smiled affectionately. "Hey, Kutner. Heard you weren't at Princeton-Plainsboro anymore?"

"Started my own outpatient clinic," he said proudly. "Working with mainly injured athletes."

"He listens to jocks complain for a living," interjected an older, shorter man walking up behind Kutner.

"Taub!" Remy greeted, hugging him. "Stephen, this is Lawrence Kutner and Chris Taub, fellow House ducklings from way back then. But what are you doing now, Taub?"

"Reconstructive surgery on Chase's team," he said. "And I recently decided to take an EMT training course, so I'll see if there's an opening there anytime soon. "

"Good choice," Stephen commented. "I'm an EMT at Faulkner."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man who had been trailing behind the other two finally reach the group. Looking slightly uncomfortable, he said, "Congratulations, Remy. Stephen."

"Eric!" she said, embracing him. When they pulled apart, he gave her a long look that Stephen could easily decipher. _The same appraising glance I give her every day. Searching for twitches, trembles, anything indicating she's not okay._ Remy had given him a few more details regarding her previous relationship with this man, and he could tell Eric still cared for her. "Stephen, this is Eric Foreman." And when the two shook hands, Stephen felt no hostile vibes.

The next moment, Remy was distracted by Mollie, her newly acquired niece, and the other man looked straight at Stephen. Under his breath, he said sincerely, "Congratulations. Take care of her." Then he touched Remy's arm to get her attention, nodded a goodbye, and was gone with the first two.

The couple was mobbed by Stephen's family - loud, laughing, and hugging. He hoped Remy wouldn't be overwhelmed, but she seemed to be enjoying it. When she met his mother two months ago, just before he proposed, the two had instantly clicked. Now they giggled together - as much as Remy ever giggled, anyway - and he made a mental note to beware of being ganged up against by the women. Eight-year-old cousins Mollie and Jamie vied for Remy's attention as she held Jamie's two-year-old brother Drew.

"Congratulations, Stephen," his new father-in-law said quietly as he joined the gathering.

"Thank you, sir." Stephen shook the man's hand firmly. "Your daughter is quite a woman.

"Yes, she is." He gazed contemplatively at Remy as she interacted with the Henderson brood. "And you're good for her."

"I'll try my best to be," he said seriously.

Ten minutes later when the group dissipated, Stephen reached over and squeezed her hand. "Sorry, my family's a little much sometimes."

"No," she said, "they're wonderful. You are so lucky to have them."

"Believe me," he chuckled, "you have them now too. They're in love with you."

"The feeling's mutual." She was distracted by something in the reception area. "Look," she said, and he followed her gaze.

The crowd had thinned, and Stephen's family made up most of the remaining group. But at a table across the lawn sat two men, each with a barely touched drink, not eating, seemingly in a heated discussion. As he watched, one got up, turned back for a parting comment, and walked toward them. Stephen didn't recognize him as he got closer, but the one still seated at the table...he slumped and rubbed his forehead with one hand, then stood and grabbed an object from behind his chair in one motion. _A cane._ Stephen drew in a breath at the familiar gait, improved from what he remembered but still painful to watch. He knew they sent an invitation to him, along with the rest of the "Princeton Crew," but Remy wasn't certain House would come, and Stephen hadn't seen him during the ceremony.

"Congratulations." Stephen hadn't even noticed the first man approach them.

Remy hugged him for a long moment, then turned to Stephen. "Stephen, this is Doctor James Wilson."

The men shook hands. "Stephen, Thirteen..." Wilson said quietly, "I just want to say thank you to both of you. For everything earlier this year. Taking care of him."

"Not a problem," Stephen assured him.

"It was a learning experience for all three of us." Remy agreed, and Stephen squeezed her hand.

House finally reached the small group. "Thirteen. I'm not going to say 'I told you so...'"

Remy smiled. "Glad you're the type to just let it go." He stood awkwardly as she embraced him, then wrapped one arm lightly around her back. "Thanks for coming," she said.

"Had to come admire my handiwork." He gestured to the two of them.

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed, smacking his arm lightly. "We miss you too."

The four chatted about nothing in particular for a surprisingly enjoyable few minutes, then Wilson pointed out that he and House had better get going if they were driving back to Princeton that night. "Nice to meet you," he said to Stephen. "And thanks again."

As Remy hugged him goodbye, Stephen stepped over to shake House's hand. "Good to see you again. And House? All joking aside...thank you."

Stephen thought he caught a slight self-satisfied smile on the other man's face as Remy wrapped him in another hug. "Goodbye, House," she said. "Next time you're in Boston, look us up."

"Right. Later, Thirteen. KSA." He nodded to both of them and walked away.

"KSA?" Stephen turned to Remy, confused.

"I guess I never told you his name for you last time he was here. My Knight in Shining Armor." She bit her lip and gave him that adorable smile, and he couldn't help but lean down and kiss her.

"That meddling ass," he murmured when they separated, and she laughed. As she turned to see them go, he pulled her in close so her back pressed into his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

Together they watched House limp away, one hand gripping his cane, the other clasped with Wilson's. "I guess he was right," Remy mused. "About us, I mean. House's matchmaking skills - who would have guessed?"

**Author's Note: I skipped straight to the wedding because I thought it was a good way to tie everything up without dragging it on and making it too cheesy =). And I decided to end it here because Thirteen and Stephen dealing with her disease would be a whole other story...one I might or might not write eventually. Anyway, sorry if you disagree with the ending, but either way please review one last time!**


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